#learning to care about each other and become responsible

[darkluminosity]

Crazy about Diluc and Eula rn so I wanted to do this... link behind the cut since it's a lot 🙃

1. Tough to say, they both do in my hc but I feel like she's more likely to initiate the hugs and he initiates the kisses 😉

2. I think they both do tbh lol. Maybe she does a bit more (at least in my current wip)

3. Eula would borrow Diluc's, I think he's more organized

4. I feel like she would for the reasons above, maybe if she was drinking and misplaced them?

5. Hm this is actually a bit tough because although he's rich and owns a winery, it was inherited so idk if he was taught money management, especially because he has others run it for him. But I feel both of them are fairly responsible.

6. Well, Diluc's parents... yeah they're not around anymore and idk about Eula's. I feel if anything she would take either extreme, either hiding it because she doesn't want to ruin his reputation by others knowing he's dating a Lawrence, or she would utilize their relationship to get back at her clan (and in part of my hcs, get rid of her association with her clan and break apart from them). But the latter would be after they talk it through and he assures her he doesn't care about it. I don't think he would want to hide it. If anything it would take him off of the bachelor market which I think he'd be happy about lol.

7. I actually think he'd be better in the kitchen overall (especially taking lessons from Adelinde if he is willing to learn) BUT as it stands his signature dish is literally a version of Pile 'Em Up which is throwing ingredients on top of each other? Compared to her signature dish, an upgraded version of Moon Pie, I think her signature dish beats his in terms of complexity. But for everyday cooking, probably him.

8. She gets more sleep but he needs more sleep lol 😂

9. They're both serious about their duties and work, but I feel he's a little more hardworking. Not that she isn't, but I think she knows her boundaries and limits more- he's constantly pushing his limits (and working as the Dark Night Hero doesn't exactly have a strict schedule if you know what I mean)

10. She has more empathy... I think 🤔 idk sometimes he can surprise others, it's just others find him hard to read. But I think he has the capacity for empathy too, he just doesn't communicate it openly very much.

11. A cat (hmm this gives me ideas) or she becomes attached to his falcon, they can write letters to each other and send them back and forth (aww 🥰)

12. Eula

13. His is acts of service and quality time, and hers is physical touch and quality time

14. I don't think they would keep secrets from each other intentionally, but there are certain things in Diluc's past that he probably wouldn't want to mention to her, and stuff he knows about Kaeya. Maybe if she asked him (about his past) but I don't think he would readily share it.

15. Neither, but I think as I alluded to in #6, Eula might not feel she deserves him so she might push him away and tell him he deserves better. At least in versions of hc where she has a lower self image and some insecurities. Who knows, he could even say the same to her because of his past if she ever found out 🤷🏻‍♀️

16. Diluc (lol my husband thinks Eula would be a terrible mom 🤐 he said it and he's the Eula main lol)

17. Eula (lol I did a short fic idea of this after chapter 18 of Fighting Winter but never posted it, where they talked after waking up and he's like why were you moaning in your sleep and making noises... and she's like uhh,I was? but she was thinking omg I want to run away in shame lol and instead tries to change the subject 🤣)

OTP questions:

Who initiates hugs?

Who wants to hold the hug longer?

Who borrows the other one’s phone charger?

Who loses their keys/wallet?

Who’s better with money?

Who tried to hide the relationship from their parents?

Who’s better in the kitchen?

Who needs/gets more sleep?

Who’s more laid back and who’s more hard working?

Who has more empathy?

If they were to adopt a pet together, what kind of pet would it be?

Who is more outgoing?

What is their love language?

Are they holding any secrets from each other?

Which one is more likely to cheat?

Which one first brings up the idea of having kids?

Who sleeptalks?

[captain-huggy-bear]

Morning Sickness

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex in the past, pregnancy, etc.

Summary: Quinn is getting increasingly worried about you as you're sick every morning and every evening, you're adamant that you're fine. Turns out you're right in a way.

Notes: Thanks to the person who sent this idea in :)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It starts around a month after your honeymoon. Every single morning Quinn wakes to the sound of you throwing up and every single night he holds your hair back as you're sick over the toilet.

You pass it off as a bad stomach bug or anxiety, something different every time but Quinn doesn't believe you nor does he like what's happening. He's had many health scares with you; the chest infection that led to you being hospitalised after you nearly passed out at work being a prime example. As a result, he knows better than to assume that when you say you're fine, you're actually fine. Instead he sits with a heavy buzz of anxiety in his chest, a fear that something is seriously wrong but not knowing what and not knowing how best to convince you to get a check up and see the doctor about it. You’re stubborn to a fault. 

It's another one of those evenings where he's happily curled around in bed, blankets tucked in around both of you. You're in his arms, back to his chest, legs twisted together so that any movement jars the other, but you're so used to it at this point that sleeping apart is more difficult and less restful than navigating the tangled mass of limbs that the two of you become each night.

When you try to slip out of his arms he's awake like a shot, blinking through bleary eyes while you push his arms off you so that you can get up. Quinn lets you go, an instant release but he's quick to follow, footsteps padding on the carpet after you towards the bright light of the bathroom. Never once considering rolling over and going back to sleep.

"You okay, baby?" You're leaning over the sink, taking deep breaths, cheeks puffing out as you try your very best to not be sick again, nausea roiling through you. You’re so fed up of being sick, it’s become a routine that’s led to you being careful about what foods you eat in the morning and evening, learning what is the worst to throw up and what’s the least offensive thing to throw up.

All you can do is shake your head frantically before you're rushing to the toilet, knees hitting the floor with a loud thud as you lean over the toilet bowl to be sick. Quinn winces at the sound of your knees impacting tile and he's beside you in an instant, hands reaching for your hair to pull it back and out of your face so you don't have to worry about throwing up in your own hair.

"Oh, baby...just let it out..." A warm, free hand landing on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he feels the way your body jerks with each bout of sickness, your muscles contracting and relaxing each time. 

You’re crying, he can hear it, the way you whimper and whine because this is the worst and you’re fed up with being so violently sick…It only increases his worry because this has been going on for too long and it just doesn’t seem to be getting any better. 

He stays beside you, holding your hair and rubbing your back until you’re no longer vomiting. When you stop, cheek resting against the toilet seat in exhaustion he’s up and reaching for a glass to fill with water for you.

“Here, baby, have some water…” You take a mouthful only to spit it out in the toilet in an attempt to get the taste of vomit from your mouth, before downing the whole glass. It doesn’t really help much.

“I hate this…” You groan out, feeling silly because it’s not even like you feel ill most of the time, you just keep getting these random bouts of sickness in the mornings and evenings. Quinn shouldn’t be as worried as you know he is…it’s probably all in your head, maybe you’ve created a Pavolvian response to the morning and night time where your body expects to be sick, so you are?

“I know, baby…” Quinn runs a hand over your hair, pushing a few strands out of your face and behind your ear, he’s gentle about it, long fingers gingerly caressing your skin like he’s worried you’ll break, “You need to visit a doctor, baby.”

“It’s probably nothing, Quinn…I’ve just eaten something or have some sort of bug or something…” You don’t want to go to the doctors, you’re certain this will blow over soon, that it’s nothing serious and you hate the idea of taking more time off for it even as your husband looks at you like you might be the most stubborn human being on earth. 

“For weeks?”

“Quinn…” You sigh out his name because you don’t want to argue, because you’re tired. All you want is to go back to bed, curl up in his arms and get what little sleep you can before you have to go to work in the morning.

He must see how tired you are because whatever fight he had seems to leave his body, shoulders slumping, head nodding to himself like he’s made a decision in his mind to put this down for the moment even if he wants to keep going, repeat himself until you give in.

“Okay…okay, let’s get you to bed at least…” He gives up arguing because you’re so tired and have to be up at 6am for work. It’s bad enough you're not feeling well, let alone that you have to still teach like this, adding exhaustion to the mix is just a bad idea. He’ll keep pushing until you go to the doctors, but right now? Right now he can see you're tired and sleep is probably better for you than arguing at 1am. 

Quinn helps you to your feet, your hands resting in his much larger ones while he pulls you up. He keeps both hands on your hips the whole time as the two of you waddle your way back to bed, there’s part of him that worries you might fall or faint on the way back to bed, hands firmly gripping you just in case. 

He curls around you once you're both back under the covers, almost protective like he’s trying to shield you from some unseen threat and you nestle back into him, resting your head on the arm underneath you. 

The early morning throw up session had you completely wiped hours later, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that you felt dizzy as the day went on. Even more so because food was just not enticing you and you had skipped lunch when your sandwich made you feel queasy just looking at it. Each lesson felt harder and harder to teach and your last lesson of the day had your head reeling. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise with how dizzy you felt, how lightheaded you were, that you fainted completely in front of your students. Thankfully, you had felt it coming on, having lowered yourself to the ground mere seconds before it happened.

To give them their dues, your students who could have used that as an opportunity to cause a mess, do whatever they wanted and generally cause chaos, actually tried to help. They were so concerned for you that they got another member of staff to come help, David, your favourite trouble making hockey fan, put his rolled up Canucks hoodie underneath your head and Stacy checked you were still breathing. The fainting spell didn’t last long, within a minute or so you were back to consciousness and trying to sit up, staff and students trying to force you to lay back down. 

It’s Laura, the English teacher next door, who grabs your phone and calls your emergency contact, Quinn…even as you protest and tell her not to bother him, that you’re fine. All your protests go ignored by the forty year old, who had become something of a mentor and parental figure during your time at the school.

“Hi Quinn, sorry, it’s Laura from Y/N’s school?” You can’t quite tell what Quinn says on the other line, but you’re sure it’s along the lines of ‘what’s wrong?’ in a panicked tone because no one ever used your phone. You hate worrying him, he has so much on his shoulders already, so much weight there from the team, the season, his brothers…

“She’s fainted, do you think you could come get her? It’s the end of the school day anyway but I don’t think she should be driving home…thanks, Quinn.” 

You groan at her, tempted to tell her off for calling him against your wishes but you know she means well…you also know there’s absolutely no chance you’re getting away with avoiding the doctors now. In fact you wouldn’t be surprised if he drove you straight to the doctor's office after coming to get you…still, maybe you should see a doctor, what with throwing up all the time…and now fainting? 

Laura won’t even let you get up from your spot on the floor, packing your things away for you, getting your students to chill for the last 10 minutes of the day and waiting until Quinn arrives. You know she’s worried you’ll faint again, but it feels ridiculous, sitting on a cold, dirty classroom floor waiting for your husband to come get you.

“Hey, baby…” The way he stands in the doorway to your classroom when he finally arrives makes you want to cry. It’s like he’s scared you’re going to faint again, a sense of hesitancy and caution in his body language that you hate because Quinn is never like that around you. 

“Please don’t…don’t be scared of me, right now…” You feel like crying, wetness starting to fill your eyes and your voice coming out choked. You’re not even sure why you’re so emotional about him looking like that when Quinn’s always worried about you, it’s not a new development. He cares so he worries. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not scared of you…I’m worried, baby.” He’s crossing the space between you as quickly as possible, crouching down next to you with care, hands reaching for your face gently to rub his fingers across your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I’m sorry…I don’t mean to be a bother…” Your eyes are so watery that Quinn’s face is a blurry mess, but even then you wouldn’t be able to mistake the serious set of his brow, the way his jaw clenches, how he always takes your concerns and worries seriously.

“Sweet girl, hey…you’re not a bother. You’re never a chore, okay? But I'm going to need you to accept that we need to go to the doctor's now, okay? I’ve already phoned them, they can see us in forty minutes.” You can’t really deny him, he’s been so patient with you, worried, but not pushing you to go to the doctors too much and you know he’s right…something’s not normal right now and you need to get checked out.

“Okay…” The smile he gives you is radiant, relief filled and bright like your answer is enough to make his day. It makes it worth it.

“Atta girl, right, let’s get you up off this floor, okay?” 

You nod at him, reaching for his outstretched hands and letting him grip yours tightly, your wedding rings gleaming and new under the fluorescence of the classroom lights. As Quinn stands he pulls you with him, helping you to your feet and holding you steady when you get a bit of a headrush from the sudden upright position.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, i’m good,” He doesn’t quite look like he believes you, “I promise, i’ll let you know if i’m not.”

He’s got an eye on you the entire way to his car, always watching in case you suddenly faint or trip or take a dive to the ground. You don’t, your dizzy spell has passed and now you just feel emotional and embarrassed about the whole thing. 

As is routine by now Quinn opens the car door for you and buckles your seatbelt, making sure it rests comfortably against you and isn’t digging into you at all. He goes a step further than normal though, reaching into the backseat to grab a blanket he keeps there for when you get cold, laying it over your lap and tucking it under your thighs like he’s worried you’ll get cold on the drive to the doctors. 

Quinn leans forward into the car, pressing a kiss to your forehead gently causing you to close your eyes, letting out a happy sigh. He lingers slightly, hand smoothing down some of your fly away hairs before he shuts the passenger side door and gets into the driver's seat. 

There’s a heavy silence that settles over the two of you while Quinn starts the drive to the doctor’s office. It’s a silence that screams that Quinn has things he wants to say, words he’s holding inside him right now and you wait patiently for him to break. 

It doesn’t take long, a few minutes pass before he’s watching you from the corner of his eye, “You need to start trusting me to handle knowing when something is wrong…” He sighs out at you, and you try not to cut him off, biting on your lip to force yourself to listen until he’s said what he needs to say. “I know you’re scared of being a burden and putting more stress on me, but, baby…I’m your husband. I need to know. I want to know. My job is to support you. I can’t do that if you’re not letting me in…” He reaches a hand across to squeeze your leg, an attempt to reassure you that he’s not mad, but that he wants you to trust him more and you get it…you do. You’ve been so reluctant to put any more stress on him, but here’s Quinn demanding that you do, telling you he wants to know when things aren’t quite right.

“I just…you have all this pressure on you and I don’t want to add to that.”

“Baby, the only stress you’re giving me is when you don’t let me help you…I need you to promise me you’re going to start relying on me more, please?” He can’t take it anymore. The way you try to hide how you’re doing, try to take all that onto yourself so that he doesn't get any of the pressure. You’re the only pressure he wants, fuck hockey, fuck the season, but he needs to know what’s wrong with you so he can fix it, so he can help you.

You reach for his hand on your leg, twisting your fingers in his and holding his hand tight, watching him glance at you out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the road for the most part. 

“I promise.” 

Quinn’s shoulders drop in relief, his need to support and protect you, to look after you already feeling better now that you’ve promised you’ll actually communicate with him properly. He loves you, but your fear of being a burden is his least favourite thing about you. He hates that people have made you feel like you have to minimise yourself, your problems. Hates that you’ve been trained to be so hyper independent and self reliant. 

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

You blink at the doctor like she’s insane because the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind that that was a possibility, that maybe you were pregnant.

“Uh, no…”

“Have you been using protection? Is it possible you’re pregnant?” You try to think back to your last period, late, try to think back to the last time Quinn and yourself had unprotected sex…your honeymoon. So over the moon, so giddy the two of you hadn’t really thought about it, forgoing the usual precautions because you were married now so it didn’t seem like such a big deal. 

You look at Quinn, the two of you sharing a look that says you’re both thinking back to your honeymoon, the two weeks of being absolutely feral for each other that you really didn’t think much about the consequences…well, you did, in a sense. Quinn had had a great time considering what you’d look like pregnant with his child, dirty talk filled with comments about getting you pregnant, but it had all been fantasies, silly in the moment dirty talk, neither of you had really considered (rather stupidly perhaps) that it might become a reality. You hadn’t thought…normally it wasn’t that easy for people and you’d always had concerns about fertility in your family in the past so why would it be that easy for you? 

“It’s…it’s possible.”

“Okay, I want you to go take this test and come back when you’re done. I think you might just be experiencing some really bad first trimester morning sickness.” You take the test offered to you, the little pee cup and pipette too, glad that she wasn’t expecting you to pee directly onto the stick…

“Do you want me to wait outside the door?” Quinn asks as you hesitantly get up, not really wanting to go alone, as silly as it was because all you were about to do was pee into a little cup and put some drops onto a pregnancy test, it wasn’t like you were going to do anything crazy. But, you’d never had to take a pregnancy test before, you’d never had to deal with the reality that you might be pregnant and even if it's with your literal husband it’s still kind of scary...

“Yes, please…” He’s reaching for your hand without any hesitation, guiding you out of the examination room and towards the toilets. 

You hesitate before entering, scared to find out the answer, unsure which you want to be true; that you’re pregnant or that there’s something else causing you to be sick and faint. You want kids, both of you have discussed it time and time again, but you always thought it would be planned, that the two of you would be actively trying when you got pregnant. 

“It’ll be okay, y’know? No matter what. If you’re not pregnant we’ll figure out what’s wrong and if you are? That’s a good thing, we wanted kids, baby.” Quinn can see you’re scared, the way you grip the test tighter, how you seem to stop breathing as you stare at the bathroom door. He’s trying to not get his hopes up, to temper some of the excitement he can feel because he really…fuck, he really hopes you’re pregnant, he’s so ready to be a dad, and it would be an added bonus to know you weren’t seriously ill, just dealing with the first trimester. 

“Yeah, just…wasn’t expecting it to potentially be this soon.”

“I know, baby, but it’ll be okay and mom’ll be over the moon.” You smile at the mention of Ellen, how excited she’ll be…heck Jack and Luke would be ecstatic to be uncles, suddenly things didn’t seem quite so scary when you considered the people around you, how supportive they would be.

“Yeah, she’ll probably scream down the phone…” If you’re pregnant goes unsaid but it’s there, the reality that maybe you’re both starting to get your hopes up for something that isn’t going to happen. 

“Okay…I can do this.”

“You’ve got this, baby…it’ll be okay,” He smiles at you one last time before you disappear into the bathroom.

Your hands shake the entire time you’re in there, completing the test and putting it on the side to wait. You pacing a hole into the floor, back and forth, back and forth as the time ticks down on your phone. In that time you start to get excited, nervous, but excited. The initial shock of potentially being pregnant disappearing in favour of thoughts about what it would be like to finally have your first child with Quinn…how he’d teach them to skate, how Luke and Jack would play with them at the lake house in the summer, how Ellen and Jim would be devoted grandparents, how you’d read them books every night and make your own Christmas traditions… Your nerves now centred on that possibility that you weren’t pregnant, that your hopes might be crushed.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look when the time was up, reaching for the door handle to Quinn pacing outside the door. His head shoots up the moment you open it.

“So?” Quinn looks so expectant, lips bitten and red from all his worrying, waiting for an answer. 

“I…I can’t look, can you check it for me?”

“Uh, yeah, course, baby.” You can tell he’s nervous too, but he steps inside the bathroom, locking it behind the two of you for privacy. You point to where the little, but no less life altering, test rests by the sink. 

You watch him walk over, watch the tension in his shoulders, how he looks at the little test, seems to read the marks, and then again, and again like he’s struggling to process it. You know the answer the moment his shoulders relax, the moment he turns to you with tears in his eyes and a wide smile, so wide across his face. He’s practically grinning, vibrant in the way he is after a won game or how he was at your wedding. The sort of vibrant that changes Quinn, his usually understated calmness wiped out in favour of pure unfiltered joy. 

“We’re…we’re having a baby…” Saying it feels unreal at first, that those two little lines can mean so much, that right now, in your tummy is your baby. The perfect mix of the two of you slowly growing into someone amazing, someone he’s so excited to meet. 

“Yeah?” You can feel your own excitement starting, hearing it is making it real, so fucking real. 

“Yeah, baby!” You’re crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess when you come together in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you and lifting you off the floor to spin you around. You’re both crying into each other when his mouth slants over yours for a kiss, one of his hands cupping the back of your head, the other resting gently over your throat.

It’s a kiss that feels monumental, deep and filled with love, so much love that the taste of the salt from your tears does nothing to deter either of you as you cling to each other. The scratch of Quinn’s beard, the silky smoothness of his hair in your fingers, the way you cling to each other, you’ve not felt that happy since your wedding day, since you both finally said I do. It feels like the world has shifted on its axis in the most spectacular of ways and all that worry, all that fear is gone, just like that. 

He’s so fucking relieved, that’s part of it. God, is he excited that you’re pregnant, that he’s going to be a dad, but part of the excitement is relief, that you’re okay, that you’re not seriously ill. You’re just pregnant, just dealing with morning sickness and all the changes associated with growing a baby. 

When you pull apart neither of you go very far, foreheads pressed together, noses nuzzling against each other. His hands still cradle you close to him, his breath warm against your lips.

“We’re going to be parents…you’re going to be a mom…” There’s something about him saying it that makes it feel more real because it feels almost out of body of an experience, to find out you're pregnant when you had no plans to be. 

“Yeah…you’re going to be a dad…”

“Fuck, I love you…” Quinn kisses you again, soft but lingering as a hand comes down to rest against your belly, no sign yet of the bundle of cells that’s growing into a baby, “and I love this little bean too,”

“I love you too, you’re going to be so great, they’re going to love you.”

“They’re going to love us.”

[solvisun]

tender is the hand.

your hands have a strange clarity, have you been walking among the stars?

dulce maría loynaz, tr. james o’ connor, from absolute solitude: selected poems

cw. angst no happy ending. 1.4k wc. less dialogues.

with you, or rather, through you, tsukishima kei understands how important the hands could be.

before anything else, he takes care of his own. one that’s littered in dried or broken skin, visible scars, rougher palms and long, callous fingers. has the purpose to block to secure his win, with tight, determined fists. and this is how he’s known that to find meaning, doesn’t necessarily have to be rational.

sometimes, the passion comes in the form of a child still believing stars can fall from the sky, or in each night one can pluck the moon and let it glow on the ceiling before they sleep. sometimes, you find love in the most mundane, and incomprehensible ways.

from simpler things like, patting yamaguchi through his anxiety, writing with his penmanship you always ogle in awe—it’s so pretty and neat, you’d mumble under your breath—as well as helping his mother through the kitchen even though he finds them tedious (he can’t admit that he sucks). where the first was to offer support to a friend, the other a basic skill taught since three, and the last his responsibility as a younger sibling. they’re all incredibly common, something that he perhaps could never in his lifetime wonder; who would even notice these things?

the answer arrives at eighteen and he’s holding your hand for the first time on new year’s eve, where there are fireworks in the making inside his melting ribcage, where your palms are pressed warm and— fuck, why are you so soft?

suddenly it becomes so apparent in the face of something new that there’s so much more he can do with the hands, so much more he can learn because of you.

with you, they become something else entirely. in brushing your hair out of your face when you doze off on the couch. in rubbing slow, absentminded circles on your back when you lean against him after a long day. in discerning and memorizing by heart the way you like your drink. adjusting the way he kneads dough when you try baking together. in picking up the softest, warmest gloves for you when winter rolls around.

he used to think that strength was only in how firm his grip was, in how tightly he could hold onto things he’s afraid to lose just to keep it from slipping. but oh, with you, he learns that strength is sometimes weaved in your name, in the feeling of your pulse on your wrist against his thumb when you pass him his glasses, hands lingering on the taste of your tangible presence, in the way he turns goo for no reason other than you call him kei so intimately, in the way he loves without restraint, without any fear of losing.

that the most meaningful victories aren’t about blocking something out—but about letting something in.

at nineteen, and then twenty. he commits himself and permits his hands to become instruments of care, of love. they wipe away stray tears, thread through your hair, adjust the blanket over your shoulders when you’re sick. or when you threaten him to wake you up after 30 minutes to continue your studying, only to grace you a forehead kiss and leave you snoring soundly.

at twenty-one, he almost forgets what life was like before you.

it’s second nature now, the way his hands search for yours, the way he instinctively reaches out—to fix your scarf, brush an eyelash off your cheek, squeeze your fingers when you mumble about a long day. his hands soften overtime, you comment, even though he's still playing volleyball and his skin still bleeds and he's still so humanly and awkwardly tender. you say, as if forever is a thing that exists with you, that he'll always remain soft in your heart.

he wonders when exactly he decided he would marry you. maybe it was the first time you said that to him on a random tuesday, or the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder, or when you sat on the floor with him after a rough game, your shoes and his shoes and all the stuff in your apartment haphazardly thrown everywhere, too tired to clean up tonight, linking your pinkies together in quiet communication. i’m proud of you through and through. i root for you. i love you.

maybe it was always meant to be you.

the ring is in his pocket. has been for months.

but there’s time.

(there’s always time.)

until there wasn’t.

life doesn’t pause for him to find the confidence to be ready—dreaming is nothing compared to having the will to chase it. and he dreams of a life with you, had a future laid out, tucked away in the lines of his palm as if it will preserve you too, he dreams so much that he takes time for granted, and time has come to bite him next.

because a week later, he was kneeling on cold hospital tiles, hands gripping onto yours, desperate, trembling. he wasn’t sure what he was praying to—science, fate, some cruel god—but he was praying, because your fingers were limp in his, and this wasn’t supposed to happen, not now.

he didn’t even notice anything at first. you’re so you—still laughing, still teasing, still fitting against his side like you were meant to be there. but the signs are there. a cough that lingers too long. the way you press your fingers into your temples as if trying to will away the exhaustion. the quiet, tired smiles.

and then there’s your hands.

the ones that have always known him. the ones that traced over his knuckles absentmindedly, the ones that fit so easily in his own. they’re colder now. thinner. your grip not as strong as before.

something in him starts to panic. but you smile, and you kiss the inside of his wrist, and you tell him,

don’t look at me like that, kei.

but how could he not?

when the hospital visits start, it becomes real. and kei, at twenty-one, who is committed to love you and have your tomorrows and maybe forever and hopefully forever, realizes that nothing he does can stop what’s coming. he can hold you. he can lace his fingers through yours. he can press his hand against your back as you sit through test after test, but he can’t fix this.

he asks you anyway.

because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that you are the only person who has ever made him want more. more than just the court, more than just winning, more than just the quiet loneliness he once thought was enough.

he asks. maybe he does it in the hospital room, voice quiet and firm, surprisingly calm despite the quiver of his lips and his dry mouth and tight chest, and cold, shivering fingers. trying to pretend like things are normal. maybe he doesn’t even get the words out, just slides the ring onto your finger with the softest touch and watches the way your eyes widen.

and you smile.

and you kiss him.

and you say yes.

and for a little while, he lets himself believe in forever. in your existence where forever is a thing. in your eyes that held him captive since the fireworks burst his chest. since he was eighteen and navigating how love can be both easy and not.

you grow weaker. your hands—your hands, the ones that have always reached for him, always held him steady—can barely grasp his own anymore. because there are nights when he watches you sleep, watches your chest rise and fall, and prays to a god he doesn’t even believe in to let you stay a little longer.

he wakes up to god’s answer that forever is cruel.

just like that.

and tsukishima kei, who has always known the weight of losing, has never felt anything like this. because no loss on the court, no failed block, no missed point, nothing could ever compare to the unbearable emptiness of his hands without yours in them.

and the ring. the ring is still on your finger. maybe it’s selfish, but he doesn’t take it off. he lets them. because you said yes. because with you, he learns that he doesn’t have to clench his fist to keep something that’s already his.

he does tighten his grip at some point, through the pool of tears, as if holding on hard enough might somehow bring you back.

the last thing tsukishima kei learns from you is the unbearable, stabbing beauty of hands. they hold things. and they let things go.

pls don’t kill me i’ll write a happier version of this 🥹 if u wish

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

caregiver midoriya izuku headcanons !!

— requested by @v4mpiirew1tch —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

💚 - izuku is probably the only one of the class a kids (barring the regressors) who actually knew what age regression was going into it. he’s done way too much research into heroics and the kinds of people that he might encounter to not know the various kinds of trauma responses civilians (and villains who still need his help) might show. now, that doesn’t mean he’s exactly prepared when actually faced with someone he knows regressing, but he does have a leg to stand on and he finds it a lot easier than expected. it isn’t hard for him to look at someone who is emotional or sensitive and go along with whatever they may need and whatever that may entail. in fact, he’s always the first one to recover and handle a situation when someone regresses in front of him— or in front of the class, which has happened (many times) before.

💚 - predictably, he was really anxious in the beginning, unsure of how fragile his friends were in their headspaces and overthinking everything. his biggest fear was that he would mess something up and take this already precarious thing and shatter it. it didn’t take very long for him to get used to things (tsu knocked some sense into him) and he got really good at slipping into his own headspace, one surprisingly similar to his hero one. he acts as an anchor in unsteady waters, giving the littles someone to latch onto as a pillar of strength as the storm passes. once they’re calm (or if they just happily regressed), izuku is more than willing to slide into a big brother role, treating his friends as he always would— just a little more gentle.

💚 - he started carrying around an emergency regressor kit soon after, packed with juice, snacks, and clean soothers (chewelry, pacis, and teethers mostly), because he figured it was better safe than sorry and he never wants his friends to be caught without something to help them. when iida found out, he was inspired by such a great act of preparedness and heroics (he was only a little upset that he hadn’t thought of it himself) that he started carrying one as well. the two of them then spent a while coming up with different things regressors might need and petitioned aizawa to let them stash said things in the classroom and training areas. aizawa, of course, didn’t care what they did as long as they were the ones keeping on top of it.

💚 - extremely tactile! izuku loves giving hugs and head pats! growing up quirkless left him very lonely and he basks in having friends to shower in affection— and being able to receive it back. everyone knows that he’s open to hold hands or cuddle whenever, even if they aren’t regressed, and it’s so well known that it ends up surpassing class lines, becoming common knowledge even amongst the regressors in class b. it isn’t rare to enter the dorms and see him hanging out while someone naps with their head on his chest or babbles to him about their day while he plays with their hair. he gives strong hugs and everyone loves them, I just know it.

💚 - he has a notebook with everyone’s regression information in it and, I’m so serious when I say this, he would protect it with his life. he has so many notes on each of his classmates, even his fellow caregivers, on things they like and don’t like, what kind of personality traits shine in their headspace, and anything he’s been told that he feels is important— like the names of their plushies. he does memorize everything, of course, but he finds that having physical copies is always better (and he has this opinion about everything, especially media). he’d never show anyone this notebook either, but he does relay things he’s learned to other people when it’s necessary. it mostly comes up as him infodumping to aizawa, who is the only person he feels this information is relevant to and the main one he trusts with it.

💚 - generally, he’s just very good with kids and takes a lot of what he learns with eri and applies it to the others. one such thing is the fact that he is extraordinarily good at reverse psychology. every little thinks that izuku is a massive pushover that lets them get away with anything but, truthfully, he always manages to steer them away from any chaos they may want to be involved in without anyone really noticing it. he’s just very good at distracting and redirecting. that being said, he also can’t say no to a pair of puppy eyes so maybe he is a bit of a pushover.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

I used to despise Eridan and think he was the absolute worst character (barring Cronus ig) but you have shown me the light and completely turned my opinion around and now I think he is such an endearing little freak <3 I read your whole blog already but if you've got any more thoughts on eri or anyone else then I hope you post them bc I'd love to hear more abt it!

i have sooo many controversial opinions about the dancestors you have noooooo idea

[girlwithrituals]

101 ways to improve self esteem

1) Master a new skill.

2) List your accomplishments.

3) Do something creative.

4) Challenge your limiting beliefs.

5) Talk to a counselor.

6) Don't worry about what others think.

7) Read or watch something inspirational.

8) Stay true to your character.

9) Let go of negative people.

10) Set healthy boundaries with others.

11) Care about your appearance.

12) Welcome failure as part of growth.

13) Be a lifelong learner.

14) Face your fears.

15) Become a mentor.

16) Accept compliments.

17) Eliminate self-criticism.

18) Practice coping skills to manage stress and big emotions.

19) Notice negative thoughts and beliefs.

20) Challenge negative thinking.

21) Think about what you learned from negative experiences.

22) Practice gratitude.

23) Exercise.

24) Eat healthy and limit junk food.

25) Get good sleep.

26) Spend time with positive and supportive people.

27) Encourage yourself.

28) Write a list of your strengths.

29) Don't compare yourself to others.

30) Avoid perfectionism.

31) Do at least one positive, enjoyable activity every day.

32) Celebrate small victories.

33) Be helpful and considerate to others.

34) Be honest with yourself and others.

35) Accept your flaws.

36) Don't give up.

37) Practice self-care.

38) Go easy on yourself.

39) Practice being assertive.

40) Practice saying "No".

41) Practice relaxation techniques.

42) Take on challenges.

43) Volunteer to help others.

44) Forgive others and yourself.

45) Set goals and work toward them step by step.

46) Seek balance in all areas of your life.

47) Discover your passions and purpose

48) Groom yourself.

49) Dress nicely.

50) Be kind and generous to others.

51) Practice good posture.

52) Change a small habit.

53) Smile.

54) Don't procrastinate.

55) Don't take things personal.

56) Organize your personal space.

57) Challenge unkind thoughts about yourself.

58) Spend time outside.

59) Notice the good things.

60) Celebrate your successes

61) Write a list of things you like about yourself.

62) Don't take too much on.

63) Do something for yourself every day.

64) Develop daily habits.

65) Remind yourself it's okay if not everyone likes you.

66) Practice mindfulness.

67) Learn to tolerate discomfort.

68) Use problem-solving skills.

69) Take responsibility instead of blaming.

Tell Yourself Positive Affirmations Such As:

70) I am grateful for every day.

71) I am worthy of happiness and love.

72) I am in charge of my own happiness.

73) I love, respect, and believe in myself.

74) I deserve to be happy and successful.

75) I approve of myself, right here and now.

76) I am learning and changing for the better.

77) I accept 100% responsibility for my own life.

78) Every day in every way, I am getting better and better.

79) I can learn to accept the parts of myself that I don't like.

80) I am thankful for my challenges as they make me a stronger person.

81) Write down three positives about each day.

82) Make a collage with your talents, goals, and dreams.

83) Practice laughing.

84) Be proud of yourself.

85) Say mistakes are an opportunity to learn.

86) Show respect to yourself and others.

87) Resolve conflict peacefully.

88) Ask for help or support.

89) Complete a daily task list.

90) Have a growth mindset.

91) Be optimistic.

92) Treat yourself with kindness and compassion.

93) Focus on the things you have control over and can change.

94) Get started on tasks you have been putting off.

95) Practice good daily hygiene.

96) Focus on solutions not problems.

97) Talk about your feelings with someone you trust.

98) Drink plenty of water.

99) Start a new hobby or join a club/sport.

100) Do random acts of kindness.

101) Create a dreams list.

[grabby-smitten]

Concrete Jungle: King of the beasts

Summary: Buying a hybrid was not what you had in mind when you asked for independence. Sylus didn’t like humans but his owner was the exception.

Subjects: Albino lion Hybrid!Sylus x F!Reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Content Warnings: Hybrid AU, smut, owner reader, kissing, cunnilingus, P in V, breeding, cnc if u squint really hard, biting, textured tongue. Use of words like predator/prey, cunt, pussy, kitten. Not edited and no beta.

A.N: I learned that big cats can’t purr and I was so disappointed. Oh, well….ah! I might do one for each li. k bye 💋

“Are you sure, I need one?” You’ve asked your parents that question for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, a hybrid is a good caretaker and it would make us feel better knowing one is protecting you.” Your father answered with a tired smile, understanding your uneasiness but they weren’t going to change their mind.

Moving out and finally becoming independent was just one step away from happening. Your parents were against it at first. Coming from money means someone will always be after your trail, danger and they had overprotected you, their only daughter since… well, even before you were born. They weren’t able to have natural children so you were conceived through artificial methods. Which, according to your parents, was a whole ordeal and suffering. Details that you rather not know.

It was time, though, to deep your toes into a world of your own. You wanted freedom for once. No dozens of bodyguards, no tracking devices and no fear of the unknown.

The part of convincing your parents was hard. No, after no, after no. Until, the head of security, taking pity on you, suggested buying a hybrid for you. Not just any hybrid; one specially made to protect and serve.

Now it was your turn to profoundly refuse. Everyone had one and those who didn’t, desired one… like some kind of accessory. It sickened you and besides, you didn’t want another responsibility. You wanted your own life! Not taking care of some… dog? Cat? Fish?

In the end, you had no other choice but to agree and here you were, in some facility. Breeding facility? Training? You didn’t care enough to pay attention, honestly.

Walking behind your parents in an all-white hall, smelling like antiseptic and gagging at the chemical sensation in your throat, you started to notice how the white walls began to turn into cages. Placards hung in the walls near the tinted glass and steel bars of the cages with descriptions of the… hybrids?

Looking up from the labels, you finally realized you no longer were alone. Each cell was occupied by humanoid-shaped shadows. The tint of the reinforced glass obstructed your vision but it was clear they were there.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a couple of strangers had joined your family. Paying a bit more attention to their chatter, you concluded they were doctors or scientists from this facility. They were explaining something about their products and that it was the best the market could offer. You frowned at their words. It was like you were buying a car… they even explained the insurance policy.

“And this specimen, right here, is our finest hybrid!” One of the men talking to your parents loudly explained.

You stepped closer to the placard and read the few words it contained. ‘Albino Lion Hybrid (Panthera leo Hybrid, large cat family Felidae). Apex predator (no natural enemy known). Renowned king of the beasts. More active at night. Preferable habitats: grassland, dense scrub, savanna, and open woodland. Nomadic male.’

Your eyes widened once your brain processed the information. This was no guard dog or house cat. Before you could utter a complaint about how obnoxious this all was, the tinted glass cleared and you were looking straight into a pair of scarlet eyes.

Sylus almost laughed at the face of the female standing outside his cell. The little mouse seemed in shock to see him there. What was she expecting? Where else would he be? If not caged and on display here— absurd, he thought. All humans that came here, came for one thing and one thing only; to purchase a wild species, a unique breed to flaunt to their peers. Sylus continuously thought about how weird these humans behaved in society. Their hierarchy dynamics were messed up and he despised that.

You felt his eyes mocking you, such deep red and the only thing you could feel was irritation. Frowning, you turned your head and left him. See how he likes grouching on his own.

Once you were a few steps away, the scientists or doctors stared at the red-eyed big cat hybrid with wonder and… respect? This place was bonkers, you thought to yourself.

“So this is the one?” Your mother asked and marveled at the sight of the lion hybrid. White-silver hair, large, powerful presence, and sharp features.

“Yes, ma’am. Our best subject. Well trained in all the aspects you requested and fairly knowledgeable which is hard to come by with these beats.”

Hearing all that gave you stomach reflux, the acidity burning your esophagus. Your dam was about to break and all your pent-up feelings would end up costing you your freedom if it wasn’t for the red-eyed hybrid. He knocked on the glass and you jumped, startled. You were surprised, he even beckoned you with a finger and again, surprised now with yourself, you automatically obeyed.

It was like a trance. A hypnotic daze of sorts. Both met face to face once again, only separated by the reinforced glass. For a moment you were distracted, the outburst you were about to have laid dormant in the back of your head.

What is this…? Sylus couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. That’s why he was so close to the glass earlier too. He couldn’t see the other side a while ago but something was pulling him there. The whole day he felt restless and on guard as if something resonated within him.

Could this be—

“Ah! Marvelous! Look! They are already interested in each other! Sylus is not showing any signs of hostility or repulsion…” a different scientist exclaimed with eagerness, interrupting whatever connection you had with Sylus at that moment.

Not many words were needed to convince your parents after that show you and Sylus put up. Papers were signed, money transferred and a very confused Sylus was sedated and prepared for shipment.

The big city. Polluted air, noisy streets twenty-four hours a day, and hybrids everywhere. Most people carried one; a human with some animal characteristics, and now you were one of them too. Sylus was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes. All the things you would need to care for him were already in your apartment and even his paperwork. Name, birth, permits and you; listed as his owner.

The melodic tune of your ring bell announced the dreaded moment. You knew Sylus would be escorted here and that most of the traveling time he would have been sedated, but still the long distance between your new home and the facility he was kept in was almost six hours away. You feared a big grumpy cat.

Oh boy… grumpy was an understatement. He didn’t look happy. The moment he stepped foot in and all the straps holding him were taken off, he waited for the delivery people to disappear and he pounced. Surprisingly not on you. He went through all your stuff. According to the guide you received he was scenting. He went through your whole house; rubbing, scratching and overall making a mess.

“Stop! Hey, hmm… Sylus? You don’t have to scent my clothes.” You tried talking to him but he was not interested in your opinion, apparently. He just glanced at you and kept doing whatever he was doing before, like you were the one, not understanding. You had to snatch your underwear from his closed fist in a panic.

He went nonverbal for a week. A week! You were going insane. Yes, he obeyed. Yes, he was extremely independent and didn’t cause any more commotion besides the panty situation on the first day. But God… he was extremely quiet. It wasn’t until you commanded him to that you realized you should have read the manual until the last page; not only the summary.

“Sylus! Say something!” You demanded; going insane was not in your plans for the foreseeable future. They never told you he was mute or anything of that nature.

“Is there anything you need from me, my lady?” His deep and slow voice had your heart leaping out from your chest.

You just stood there, gaping and looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was able to make a sound. Yeah, not even his steps produced sounds. Sylus examined his human with a gleam of humor in his sapphire eyes. This face was a common one for her and he found it… almost endearing. It reminded him of the first time you two met.

“You can talk…” you whispered low and saw how his fluffy round, and white ears twitched. “You can talk!” Again, you exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in disbelief. “Why haven’t you said anything before?!”

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he calmly explained. That mischievous twinkle in his eyes never left, “my owner never requested me to do so until now.”

And that’s how you spend almost three days reading the darn manuals with a now very talkative feline.

You found that Sylus was more than just a pet. He could cook, clean and even force you to exercise which ended up backfiring. You couldn’t keep up with his supposedly healthy routine. A healthy lifestyle means a happy owner, and you would curse under your breath every time he repeated it.

In general, you were happy, he seemed happy and living with him was easier than you thought. Quickly, you two began to build a bond and it was a matter of time before he began to realize why it had been so easy to adapt to this human. His human which is how he referred to you.

Following the manual, you always made sure to have everything Sylus would need. Even his heats. At first, you tried to get him a heat partner and it was a mess. More like you were a mess. Even Sylus was surprised at how you ended up kicking out the poor rental gazelle hybrid in less than five minutes. You didn’t understand what took over you to be so… overprotective.

Oh, but Sylus was not complaining. Watching you almost declare war in his name gave him a deep satisfaction. So much so that he accepted to take suppressants for the time being.

After that incident, things began to change drastically. Sylus in return became a bit more aggressive towards any living creature that was in less than a mile radius of you. Growling, pushing, and even wrapping you with his tail and pulling you towards his body anytime he felt you were in danger. Yeah, you were in so much danger from the tube man… that air dancing balloon from the car wash a couple of blocks away.

“It can be that bad…” you took hold of his arm around your waist in a reassuring manner.

He’s been walking with you in his hold since you crossed paths with the inflatable dancing man.

“It has erratic movements. You never know what he might do next.”

Yeah, it was a recurring situation.

Yeah, he was prepared for everything and anything. Well, except one morning when his nose woke him up.

A sweet intoxicating scent traveled through his nostrils and shook him awake. He felt his mouth water, his canines aching, and his eyes turning into thin lines. The predator in him had been disturbed and its awakening meant trouble.

In all his years in captivity, he had never felt such hunger. Something was clawing in his chest, desperate to come out, each intake of air was pulling his sanity deeper and deeper while the monster surfaced.

Like any good hunter, he let his nose guide him through the house. Following such an intoxicating aroma took him to your door. There he stood—elaborated breathing, sharp fingers encrusted on his palms searching for restrain. You were inside; sleeping soundly in the early hours of the morning. He could hear your soft breathing mixing with his wildly beating heart. Knowing you weren’t aware of the predator outside your door sent a jolt of excitement through his body. Easy prey.

Was it you? Were you the one producing such… inebriant aroma? Why?

He took the handle with a death grip, his rational side fighting against instinct. He felt the urge to hunt, pursue, chase… this… this aroma and make it his own. With an internal battle raging inside him, Sylus felt the door weighed heavy on his palm, the handle burned, but he still stepped in.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, it made no difference to him that you slept in complete darkness; his ruby-red eyes could see just fine. Then, his gaze focused on your sleeping form, little movement from your steady breathing and you had no idea that a hungry predator stood at the foot of your bed.

But Sylus didn’t move, didn’t pounce on you like he wanted. Torn between instinct and duty, he was frozen in place, sweating and overwhelmed with indecision. Your scent was clouding his every sense, making it even more difficult to do the right thing. It was like time had stopped and the only thing on his mind was the palpitations in his groin for even letting his skin touch the hair surrounding you.

What was the right thing? He asked himself. Neck—cracking as his body suddenly shuddered in pain, Sylus was holding himself back by a fine thread.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. You were not like his kind who would accept mating just because of a sudden heat. You were human and he had that fact ingrained into his mind. With a whimper of pain and trepidation, Sylus walked over to the side of your bed; every step was excruciating for the hybrid. Once he reached the edge, he did like every other night shared with you. Sylus, silently whining, laid beside you and wrapped his arms tightly, but this time he kept a generous distance between his hips and your back.

He was not a mindless beast. Not to you.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…” you don’t know when, you don’t know how, but Sylus always ended up sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket. “Sylus!”

“You don’t wanna know what I did to the last person who woke me up.” Each word came with a little slur at the end, he was barely waking up. No a second goes by and you felt his spiked tongue grooming the nape of your neck and soft growls shaking your whole body.

“Someone’s happy today, hmmm?” You asked in a short breath, reaching for his round and fluffy ear. As you scratched, you heard the deep grumbles of satisfaction increasing.

“Smells good…”

You felt him sniffing all over your chest, deeply inhaling, moving his head downwards. Sylus pulled your covers in a hasty manner and kept descending. Your eyes widened as you realized where he was going and your feet quickly stopped him; placing them on his shoulder and chest.

“Sy-Sylus! S-stop!” Your hands joined your legs and feet, placing your palms on his mouth and the rest of his face. “What do you—“

You stopped mid question as you felt a bit of moisture in between your legs. In a panic, your mind counted the weeks since you moved in and you have forgotten to make an appointment for your birth control replacement… which meant you must be ovulating. How could you forget? It’s been weeks! With everything happening after moving, getting Sylus and adapting to the new city. You had completely forgotten…

A muffled sound came from behind your palm and then a rough tongue pushed against your skin. You slowly retracted your arm, looking at him with apologetic eyes. It was your fault, after all.

“I was saying that you seem to be in need of assistance,” he uttered, arching an eyebrow at your saddened face.

His heavy body was pressing against the sole of your feet, your legs kept him at bay and it surprised you how… physically insistent he was being.

“What do you mean?” You quickly replied, feigning ignorance and he seemed to know your every trick because his first reaction was to give you one of those salacious smiles of his.

“You can’t exactly lie to my nose, kitten.” He almost growled every word, sending shivers through your body. “You’re fertile.”

Before you could even utter a word to contradict his truth, his hands brushed the back of your raised legs for then his fingers gently tapped your skin. You let out a squeak of surprise and swiftly moved your legs, thus giving him an opportunity to nestle in between your thighs.

“If you’re making fun of me, it’s not funny,” you rebuked, but even as you said that the pressure and sudden ache in your lower regions began to increase with the proximity and weight of Sylus.

“I’m not.” He chuckled and it reverberated down your tummy, sending deep palpitations through your core, “you didn’t read the whole manual yet, now did you?” His finger gently tugged your chin, making you stare right into his crimson orbs.

“No…” you sheepishly mumbled, embarrassed of being found again and your lack of knowledge about some stuff still in the encyclopedia-like book you were given.

“Give me the order and I will deliver, Kitten.” He whispered, eyes calling for your surrender. Sylus was pushing the right buttons by being so close, touching you, and having you cornered right where he wanted you.

“You mean…” voicing your hesitation didn’t deter him from destroying your inhibitions, brick by brick. His eyes were hypnotizing, he would give you anything you wanted and you knew you would be safe, right?

He had you caged between his body and the bed, your mind going a mile per second and your heart racing just as fast. No, he wasn’t moving an inch more and you knew he wouldn’t unless you said so.

“Okay…” you sighed finally removing a burden from your shoulders, “h-help me.” You wanted him to alleviate your aching.

“As you wish, Kitten.”

Not soon had those words left his lips, he was on you. You felt the heaviness of the impact of his lips on you. He had seemed calm while talking but his actions spoke differently. Sylus’ kiss was demanding, fiery even. His tongue took no time to slip in between your abused lips, delivering tentative licks to yours; as if tasting and enjoying you.

He kept his low throaty snarls flowing over your body, crushing you against the sheets. You could taste him too, wild, intense, so Sylus. Two bodies lay in the bed, limbs intertwined. Sylus hands traveled up your body, fingers gripping at anything he could find, your moans being greedily swallowed.

His tail kept a steady thumping behind him, lulling you deeper into his embrace. You would let him do anything, be anything if it meant this fire ignited in your chest would never cease to exist.

Sylus grasped the back of your head, fisting strands of your hair for him to pull back and expose your neck to his aching teeth. He felt euphoria ran through his veins as soon as his pearl whites connected with your tender skin. A growl and the stinging stab on your neck made you gasp, hands gripping his collar to bring him even closer as if that was possible.

In a hurry, his other hand began to tear away your pajamas as his teeth continued to gnaw almost painfully at your throat.

In a blink of an eye, you were lifted and bent. Your face harshly met the warmth of pillows. Gone were your clothes. In what moment exactly? You don’t recall and you didn’t really care at that moment.

“I knew it– fuck– the moment I saw you, I knew it.” Sylus rasped out, breath suddenly hitting your nude backside. “This was mine before you even knew it.”

He suddenly lifted your hips, exposing your dripping core to his crimson gaze. You whimpered as the cold hair hit you, hands gripping the bedsheets, and that’s all you could see. Your own fist and abundant white.

“Sy-Sylus!” You shrieked.

Your exposed pussy was invaded by his mouth, and a low vibrating sound joined. His bumpy tongue lapped eagerly, the texture making you mewl and tremble as you unconsciously tried to pull away. Now the chuffing sound changed to a growl of displeasure, his hands quickly moved to your lower tummy and pressed you back against his awaiting lips.

A mess, a wet and sloppy mess. That’s what Sylus was, still holding your body against his face. He couldn’t care less about anything other than your flavor and sounds overtaking his entire being. He slurped, nipped and spit back in just to repeat it all over again.

It took no time to have you trashing and shaking on his grip, cuming on his face, the chuffing sounds intensifying with your moaning.

Skin on skin, no clothes separating him from you, you didn’t register when he freed his body of them. Too lost to care, too much at once to have a sense of anything other than Sylus.

“You take me so well… My kitten—made for me…” he growled as he slipped every inch of him. Your warm walls protested at the intrusion as he mounted you.

Pinning you down, chest pressed against your back and your face shoved into your drool-stained pillows.

“If you keep struggling, kitten… I– fuck, fuck– you’re making it really hard to hold back” he groaned as his eyes zoomed in on your head trashing and shaking. The predator in him just looming around the corner, his female ready for the taking.

“It’s too big!” Your scream was muffled by the pillow. As your wailing reached his ears, his cock throbbed and released a few ropes of white.

“You’re being so good, kitten. Just a… bit longer…” Sylus sighed with pleasure as the creaminess made it easier to thrust into you. Incessantly, hitting that spongy spot, making you cry out as you felt more burning cum filling you up. Both breathless, both panting and an arrange of noises filled the room.

“I feel so full! Sylus! I can’t!” Tears streamed down your face at how bloated you felt, but he kept pushing and bursting inside you. One after the other; face down you had no other option but to take it.

“Not full enough— you need more…” hips slamming into you, the squelching sound of your insides consuming the silence— him bottoming out again and again. “My cunt… will only have my cubs…”

You’re not sure how long it was, you were in and out. Lost a daze, being shoved, pressed and pounded mercilessly… Sylus voice swirled through your mushy brain— satisfaction, and ecstasy running wild through both of your bodies.

Blinking once, twice. You felt heavy and your foggy vision wasn’t helping. You still felt the aftermath of it all. Legs sporadically spamming, lower tummy so heavy and sore.

“You… came so much…” you whispered in between breaths. His cum was dripping from your tender hole, rapidly pooling on the bed. “Why?”

He shrugged, as he caressed your cheek.

“A lion’s thing,” he mumbled softly, pulling you closer and gently holding you.

The rest of the day you were spent. Too exhausted to do anything else. Sylus bathed you, changed the bedding, brought you drinks and food, and gave you the darn manual to finish it for once.

“Sylus!” You slapped his naked chest with indignation. “Here,” you pointed to an article you highlighted, “it says that lion hybrids can copulate for two to three days? Two hundred times in succession? Are you insane?” That explains a lot.

“I am just waiting for you to rest, humans are more delicate than I thought. We’re not moving from this room.” He deadpanned.

Your expression fell as his eyes seemed to show how serious he was being.

“I read that lionesses bite the male’s ballsack when they are upset or something,” you grinned wickedly. “I will do that if you don’t behave!”

“I wouldn’t oppose, sweetie.” He goaded. Your smile slowly faded as your threat was not working as planned. “So… I see you are feeling more… energetic.”

You threw a pillow at him before he pounced on you.

Ah, yes… a gentle protector a trusted guardian, but a beast on the sheets.

[nitw]

OKAY REAL TALK. i'm on episode 5 rn. if this keeps up the way i think it is then this show is such a fucking genius adaptation, and i never would've seen it coming

like yeah, an animated scott pilgrim series authentic to the comics and the story bryan originally wanted to tell would've been amazing too. but when you think about it, SCOTT'S story has already been told to us more than a few times now. even if the live action movie took a different turn by accident, the overall message of "well-intentioned people can still make, and should still take responsibility for, mistakes that hurt those who care about them, and indifference will only end up hurting them back" still sticks for the most part.

but it's mainly been from scott's perspective. which makes sense! he's the main character, so, obviously!! but here's the thing: ramona has ALWAYS served as a reflection of scott's issues. ngl i think this is one of the most consistent things in the entire franchise, and it's why i love ramona so much. as we dive further into her backstory we learn just how much of a wall she's built around herself, how she's afraid of trusting people, but especially that, as sympathetic as she is, she's also caused so much (unintentional) damage herself. although she's introduced as someone literally too good to be true and unreachable by scott's standards, it becomes more and more apparent how similar scott and ramona are, and so they're perfect for guiding each other towards a brighter path.

and what better way to highlight this than to flip the tables completely, putting RAMONA center stage aka making the audience intimately familiar with her immediately, making SCOTT the mysterious damsel in distress/goal at the finish line instead, driving ramona to face the 7 evil exes and making amends with them in a way scott never could???

also can i just say. HUGE SHOUTOUT to the marketing team for hiding this reveal SOOOOO well. like seriously, i was worried they were showing TOO MUCH in the trailers BUT I WAS WRONG. WE GOT PLAYED SO HARD

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

I firmly believe that Kabru is autistic but masks so hard that he’s convinced himself and (almost) everyone around him that he’s neurotypical.

That man’s special interest is people and how they work, but he just thinks it’s him Being So Good At Socializing — like he doesn’t spend 95% of his time people watching and adjusting his personality in response to the traits he witnesses and obsessing over the intricacies of human interaction while mapping an ever growing relationship chart in his head. For fun. He even admits it in the manga!

Like, look at him!!!

It’s such a shame that — because he’s the narrative foil to Laios and his interest is generally considered more “socially acceptable” in both their world and our own — more people don’t realize this about him. He’s constantly misinterpreted as a horribly manipulative person who only acts the way he does to use the people around him, when that’s explicitly shown to not be the case at all. Kabru is naturally empathetic and is almost always thinking about other people, regardless of whether or not they’re right there with him or a thousand miles away.

I mean, his most defining motivation is his desire to do everything he can to avoid another tragedy like the one at Utaya. Someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t have a goal like that, and they most certainly wouldn’t go about it the way he does. He’s constantly working to help people who can help everyone else and tries so hard to make sure that anyone who seems like a threat is actually someone he needs to worry about before doing anything about it. His supposed aversion to Laios is only because of the ridiculous trolley problem he’s set up in his own head.

Outside of that, he (rather justifiably) hates monsters but is desperate to understand Laios’ love for them and his apparently most selfish goal in getting close to the guy was literally just to become friends with him.

When he’s interacting with the canaries and they imply that they’re going to take him and all of his friends to the West, his first thought is of Rin and how much she’d hate to be stuck in the place that gave her so many bad memories.

He helps Kuro learn Common when Mickbell is asleep and firmly looks forward to the day that the half-foot and Kuro can communicate properly so that their relationship can get properly started without any miscommunication.

And he understands Mithrun with only a handful of weeks AT BEST interacting with him, getting enraged when the elf seems to give up and immediately trying to help him find a new motivation for life.

I’m excited just thinking about the day that Kabru starts unmasking more and more around his friends — both new and old — because if being with my current friend group has taught me anything, it’s that hanging out with anyone so unabashedly themselves is bound to make you more comfortable with yourself too. It’s part of the reason why I like Labru so much! There’s something nice about imagining them hanging out in the throne room or laying in the grass outside and talking for hours on end about their special interests. They might not strictly understand what the other finds so fascinating about monsters or people, but they can grasp that shared feeling of love.

They probably influence each other in really good ways too, with Kabru helping Laios figure out what people are thinking even when it doesn’t make sense or Laios helping Kabru understand that not everyone and everything needs to be analyzed a thousand times over. They both get to learn that there are people like them and people who will love them without them ever having to change a thing about themselves. They deserve to know that they’re fine the way they are.

[4dbeingguide]

there is only one sentence you need to know as a manifestor:

the 3D/physical world isn’t real. only the mind is.

disclaimers:

this is slightly rant-y though i don’t attack you, i uplift you

excuse any grammar errors!

credit to all the artists whose art was used!

let’s get into it.

you do not exist/live in the 3D, you simply perceive your own mind and assumptions in three dimensions. the 3D is an illusion. it isn’t real. the phone you’re reading this on, your surroundings, me writing this post, “other” people, they’re not real.

this will literally answer all the questions you have about LOA. examples include:

“what if what i’m doing won’t make anything manifest in the 3D?” then boo-fucking-hoo? it wouldn’t even matter because that’s not where you live. you’re 4-dimensional. if it’s happened in the 4D, it’s fucking happened! put it in your success story list. rejoice now that it’s happened. because it has! the 3D is NOT real, the 4D is so you should be checking the 4D! think about this question: “what if it doesn’t manifest in the 2D (a world of only length and width)?” i bet you’re like “womp womp? the fuck would that have to do with me? it’s not real and i don’t live there!” give that SAME energy to the 3D. you live in the 4D.

“where is it in the 3D?” why do you care? it’s not where you live. CONSCIOUSNESS is the only reality. you heard me. you shouldn’t give a fuck about whether it will manifest in the 3D or not because the 3D doesn’t determine reality, YOU do. why do you want confirmation from an illusion when you can have confirmation from what’s actually real (the mind)?

“but if i stop caring about whether it’ll manifest in the 3D or not, it might not manifest in the 3D!” first of all, womp womp then? you don’t live in the 3D. second of all, that’s literally impossible unless you directly/intentionally assume that it’s the case. the 3D literally EXISTS as a reflection/limited perception of the mind. it’s LAW that it will come. and the last time i checked, “i don’t care whether it comes or not” and “it won’t come” are different statements. but what i just find so hilarious about this one specific doubt is that you’ve literally just PROVEN your THOUGHTS create the 3D.

“i can’t manifest abc! it goes against the laws of physics/circumstances etc” lemme just get this straight. the MIND is the only reality yet you are lying and saying it has limits based off of 3D “law”? and the 3D is not real meaning the “laws” of the 3D aren’t either? the 3D doesn’t and will never be able to tell the mind what to do. that being said, you can manifest pissing a million bucks, teleporting into a villa in italy or becoming wanda fucking maximoff and developing superpowers. you can manifest hulk hogan flying across the pacific to your door and proposing to you, hell, you can even manifest BECOMING hulk hogan. you can manifest your SPs buying you three million bentleys then making out with you in each of them. you can manifest going back in time. you. can. manifest. ANYTHING. you. can. manifest. anything. you. can. imagine. you’re OMNIPOTENT.

this one is very interesting cause it’s a response to doubts! “if i keep doubting, it won’t show up in the 3D!” the reason your doubts persist is because your mind thinks they actually mean shit and are an issue worth addressing. so what if it doesn’t show up in the 3D? it’s already happened.

“but what if im one of the odd ones out? what if i can’t manifest?” despite the fact that it’s scientific law, the rebuttal for this doubt is very simple. you wouldn’t be alive lmao. being alive is a constant act of the 3D reflecting your mind, that’s literally its only purpose. it’s an inanimate, mindless, limited perception of your mind that instantly conforms to your beliefs. you are CONSTANTLY manifesting. what you’re doing is just learning how to control WHAT you manifest. (just to set the record straight. this doesn’t mean you are to blame for your problems since you didn’t consciously choose them).

“the 3D isn’t showing me what i want!” well it isn’t real lmao? why the fuck would that matter?

one of the WORST beliefs you can have as a manifestor is that the goal of manifesting is changing the 3D. i know you (probably) came in thinking that but i want you to shed that belief. the 3D is not real. the goal is to get it in the 4D, where you live. to fully experience something, all you have to do is change your mind as that’s the the only reality. when you accomplish that goal, rejoice and move on.

this is why i very, VERY heavily dislike the statement that “an assumption persisted in will harden into fact”. no, an assumption IS a fact. only regarding something as real when it manifests in the 3D (which isn’t real) is fallacious.

“thoughts create reality” i bet you’ve heard this before in this community but i don’t like this either for this simple reason: thoughts (that you accept) ARE reality.

my biggest piece of advice to you as a manifestor is this: realize that the 3D doesn’t mean shit.

when you DO get your manifestation in the 3D, it’s perfectly fine to be happy but don’t jump up and down saying “it’s finally happened (in reality)!”. NO. it happened in reality ages ago, the 3D just caught up.

i’m gonna link some really sexy posts that will help you understand this better. most of these are scientific.

https://www.reddit.com/r/NevilleGoddard/s/AmlHe5oipA (the post is up, i don’t understand why tumblr won’t embed it)

if you liked this post, leave a like, reblog, engage, follow, let me know if this helped 🫶😭

[mayasaurusss]

Hello, I really liked the way you write about Jinx, can you please write about how femme! the reader and Isha fall into a trap and as a result, while protecting Isha, the reader is injured and Jinx goes into her killer mode (you don’t have to write if you don’t want to) you can just write aftercare if you want

A helping hand

A/N: and here it's finally done! I could have made this oneshot quicker and shorter but then I got chaught up in writing it... and I woke up eight days later with this in my drafts😂. I don't ususally like how I handle stories, but I think that this one turned out pretty good. As mentioned in another post, it's very heavily plot driven and it's a wopping eleven pages worth of writing. My grammar, as always, might not be the top gamma. I hope you guys will enjoy it! Also this was mixed with something someone suggested on ao3!

Contains: female reader, violence, murder, mentions of saliva and vomiting, hurt and comfort, very heavily plot driven, happy ending with a happy family. Lenght: 6k/ 11 pages.

The limited air inside the vent makes you choke on your breath, chemicals and smoke filling your lungs and hollowing your brain. A loud sound echoes inside the metal hull, alerting every one of your senses. "Isha! Be careful!" you whisper-yell at the kid, who's crouching in front of you, placing her hat back on.

She just huffs in response, rolling her eyes before continuing her tour inside Zaun's vents. Isha has not been too fond of you since you entered her life; one reason could be that she thought she had to compete with you for Jinx's attention. The other reason, maybe, is that you were from topside. Piltover, The City of Progress. The city who exploited and hurt the poor citizens of the Undercity. Avid hands commanding from atop marble skyscrapers, grinning smiles sucking away the air of the lanes.

It's no wonder you're not Isha's favorite; Sevika too seemed to have a disdain for you, either because of your privileged position or for the way Jinx was distracted and dreamy when you were near.

To ingratiate yourself into Isha's favours and to make it at least somewhat pleasant for both of you to be near each other, you agreed to follow her in a walk through the lanes.

Jinx had invited you into her own private lair, after much convincing on her part. One day, she just swept you up and brought you down with her, making you walk through fissures, alleys and neon lit streets.

"You should have a tour of The Lanes, y'know, to learn how life's like down here" a flicker of a spark reflecting in her goggles as she made some of her obscure machine-thingies. "So give me one" you said, prompting Jinx to hum in thought. "I am busy today, and Sev' is too. Besides, I don't think you'll enjoy each other's company" she glanced at Isha, who was drawing Stinkmaw on her notebook. "You'll just have to settle for Isha" the kid propped her head up at the mention of her name, already looking with stars in her eyes at Jinx, not aware of your previous conversation. "What do you say Isha? Want to have fun with your new friend? Give her a tour of the Undercity?", Isha sized you from head to toe with a snarl on her lips, eyes moving between you and Jinx while her face became more and more agitated. "Come on, she's not that boring" Jinx moved back to her work, sparks flying and lit up her face, "I should know". Your face grew hot with her words, remembering what happened between you two just weeks prior. Isha gave a disgusted 'ew', before Jinx turned her head to watch the kid, a shadow of anger in her eyes. "No excuses! Come on, just go around a bit, become friends!".

"Jinx I, I don't think this is a wise idea. I mean, Isha is just a kid: what if something happens? I-" Jinx interrupted you, her voice almost lost between the screeching sounds of metal scraps flickering sparks between each other. "You'll both be fine. Isha is a smart kid, she'll get out of any situation. As for you..." she turned to you, a teasing glint in her eyes, "...will you be able to keep up with her?".

'No, not at all' you answer to her mental image, struggling to keep your pace behind Isha. The kid is fast inside these tunnels, and your body is not accustomed to their narrow spaces and to the flow of smoke and waste. The metal feels light and shaky under your weight, giving you the impression that at the slightest of pressure, you will sink beneath and break your ribs into the concrete of just another of Zaun's alleys. You steady on, carefully applying your weight where each border of the metal tubes meet, following the shadow of Isha.

After what feels like ages, you finally spot the end of a tunnel, light shining on the dirty buildings giving it a green hue. Isha crawls towards it, leaving you behind in the dusty tunnels, prompting you to follow her quickly. The kid has already jumped in the street below, adjusting her hat on, turning her back to you while she begins to walk away. You take in a deep breath, calculating the height of your jump, before falling messily on the concrete.

"Ack, shit" Isha gives you a dirty look, "What?". She just rolls her eyes, before continuing on, not waiting for you. The Undercity is just what you expected: crowds of people fill it's street, smoking and squaring you up; sellers shout to lure in buyers, presenting their merch of metal husks, hundreds of different flavours of tobacco and pieces of meat that you'd rather not know from what they came from. At the far corners, gang groups threaten and push against each other, their blades glinting with a malicious look. The streets are lit by bright neon signs, filled with all possible smells and gasses, overcrowded to the point that you're short of breath. Distantly, you can hear the sound of machinery evermoving, of water and air and of shipments departing from shore. The city itself beats and pumps, like a living heart.

Everything is suffocating; too loud, too much. And what's worse is, everyone knows that you don't belong. Their eyes are envious, angry, a dangerous hate barely hidden beneath their scleras. Hell, Isha, the kid who is known to have a kind heart, can barely hide it. For a moment, too caught up in your mind and it's worries, you miss Isha turning around, entering a dark hallway. You follow her blue locks until you're far from people, now only surrounded by high walls and some couples making out in a corner. On one wall there are signs of damage: claws and dents and what looks to be a... strange green goop staining the bricks, along with scraps of metal of an exoskeleton.

You find Isha sitting at the corner where the street opens, back against the wall. You are not too sure what she is doing: after all, she has proved to be rather uninterested in you. What you don't realize, not at first anyway, is that she had run through the crowd into the alley to lure you away from that noisy hell so you'd have time to get used to it. Sliding down next to her, your clothes drag down the dirt and dust of years behind them. Silence feels heavy above your head, the distant sounds of the crowd the only thing keeping you at least a bit sane.

Isha has found a pastime in rolling the hem of her hat on the ground, trying to make a perfect spin with it. The sounds of metal against concrete screech inside the hallway, attracting more than just one pair of eyes. You can feel Isha's reluctance to begin so close to you, probably thinking to herself that it was a mistake waiting for you. When the silence feels too heavy, then you finally speak. "Isha...listen" the hat spinning stops abruptly, it's hem catched between Isha's thumb and index finger. "I know you don't like me" she's surprised that you decided to face the problem right away; it's not something your people are known for. "You've made it all too clear these past days. I know you are wary of me; I know the Undercity is wary of us". The kid's eyes are now on you, studying, squaring you up, detecting any lies that you may hide under your sweet words.

"But... I am not my city. I know what you have been through and I am..." you falter for a moment, thinking that you're starting to sound a little too guilty and invested in this, and that she may recognize this as insincere. "What I meant to say is... I would like to be your friend, if you want to".

Isha doesn't answer you right away, but you see a small smile spread on her lips. You breathe a sigh of relief at successfully bringing down her walls.

She jumps back up, extending her hand to yours, palm open and a curious smile on her face. You take it, careful to not push your weight down on her before you too stand up.

"Come on, let's go home. This is good enough of a tour for me today", you take Isha's hand, ready to walk back to Jinx's, before something clutters inside the hallways, spreading its dull, hollow metal sound everywhere. The sound gets closer and closer, the item of its origin stopping its course at your feet. It's a cylinder shaped, stubby looking object; drawn on its surface are what you recognize to be Jinx's drawings, imitating a grinning gaping mouth of some evil creature. The red light you are so familiar with, the one which with Jinx blows her enemies to bits, is off.

"Well, look what we have here. The runt of that crazed bitch and Piltover's finest trash". From under the fuming tubes, a tall, scruffy looking man shows up. His hair is in a buzz cut style, thin muscles tightly attached to his bones, making him look starved and unkept. Black tattooed run over his forehead and cheeks, giving his sulken eyes even more of a crazed look. His goons all show up after him, exiting from their hidden spots. "What do you want?" you try to sound though, but the wavering of your voice only gives away your fears. Isha hides behind you, clutching tightly at the fabric of your pants.

"Oh we don't want anything from you. But you see..." he reaches to fish something out of his pants. You see it before he shows it: the hem of a knife. He slides the blade out of its sheath, glimmering dangerously in the dark. "...that darling bitch of yours took something from us. Well, to be honest, someone. Someone very dear to our group" you look in between you and Isha, then at the distance between you and the goons, trying to think of an escape.

"What do you mean? How do you know Jin-" he laughs creepily, a little too high for your tastes, echoing between the walls. "How do I know Jinx? Everyone knows Jinx!" he gesticulates with the knife still in his hand, dangerously close to hitting himself in the eye with it. He inspects the blade with something dark inside his thoughts, dulling the colour out of his eyes. With a creepy and disturbing smile on his lips, he runs his finger along the line, blood trickling down its shape. He seems to take a sick kind of pleasure from seeing red staining the metal. "I gotta give it to her though, she really aimed high: fucking someone from Piltover is something none of us would dirty ourselves trying to".

A vein under your skin pumps blood into your brain faster, giving you the prospect of an annoying headache, "Watch that tone-". "Never thought that that small, smart runt would become what she is today. Powder really outdid herself", you don't miss the cruel smirk which paints his lips, enjoying infecting your relationship with Jinx. "Powder?" the name doesn't ring a bell, and you're left with the man's ominous eyes peering into your heart, telling you that 'you don't know anything'.

"Oh look, trust runs so deep between you two that you don't even know her real name! Did you really think a parent could ever name their child 'Jinx'?" the rest of his group laughs and mocks you like their leader is, like a hoard of sheep follows their shepard. "I don't need to know her name. If there is a reason why Po- Jinx is keeping her real name a secret from me, I am not gonna pry it open from her" you can feel your heart pump blood faster into your veins, that small headache becoming stronger and stronger as anger takes hold of your actions. "Mhm? Just like she kept her family's deaths a secret?" those words feel heavy when he speaks them, clearly holding some truth behind them. You try to remain calm but anger and fear are affecting your judgment. "W-What? What the fuck are you talking about?" their ugly laughs fill your ears, only aiding in alimenting the fire at your heart. "After our little...fight, he changed. He started to hang out with the wrong people, doing the wrong things..." slowly, ever so slowly, all of them start to circle around you. One, two, four, six of them, sporting grinning smiles, stalking you like hyenas.

"But he would have been the same has always, even if he had become dumber than he was. He would have been alive too, at this moment, if Vander hadn't intervened". None of what this man is saying makes sense to you. He's talking to you, but his words are meant for others: for his friends, for Isha, for Jinx. You, once again, are reminded that you're not welcome here. In their eyes, hate and hunger swirl, creating a whirlwind that sucks away at your courage, "Just...what do you want from me?!".

"Jinx and that sister of hers took our friend from us. Our boss. Now-" with mastered precision, he makes the blade jump from his hands, now it's tip pointing towards the ground. Something that you can only describe as burning hatred and killing intent paints his features, before he screams a rallying cry, "It's our turn taking everything from her!".

That is enough for the whole lot of them to pounce. One moment, and they are all on you; punching, kicking, twisting your hair in their grasp, snarling and mocking. In the confusion you lose Isha, not being able to distinguish her blue locks in between all that green and grey. For a split second, after they consume their gloves on you, no one is holding you down. You take the occasion to slip away from their grasps, falling backwards into the opening street. You take a second to choose what to do, and as you run towards the crowd once again, following where you assume Isha went, a feeling of anger rises in your stomach. The sound of the busy street echoes, a distant reminder that you have a life to return to, but something tugs at your heart to look at them in the eyes. Blood pumps fast in your veins, alerting every muscle, every bone, every fiber that danger is near, you need to go, but your heart, brain, the pride you take in begin still alive overtakes your judgment. You stop to look at them, the prospect of a challenge in your eyes, of saying 'Look at me!' and incite them to follow 'I am still alive!'.

They look like ravenous beasts, hunched backs and gleaming eyes, angry snarls on their faces, hate coursing through their veins. The leader of the group, the scruffy looking one, fishes something from his back and places it on the bottom of his face: it's a mask, made with grey metal and sprayed with fake golden accents to give it a more classy look. On the side there's a circular opening with a single point in the centre. He takes a syringe and inserts it in the hole, pushing the top down and filling the hollow cavities of the mask with purple gasses. He takes in a deep breath, eyes rolling backwards, before his body goes through a strange change, twitching and moving like he had been shocked. When he looks back at you his eyes are a deep, neon pink, the same shade of colour that paints Jinx's eyes. He moves towards you, pushing and snarling at his friends like a dog with rabies, breaking their bones on the walls, before, with all the air in his lungs, screams, "I'm going to enjoy skinning that piltie's clean skin away from your body!".

You don't make it far before, with an uncanny precision, he throws his blade towards you like a spear, metal sinking inside of your left side, dangerously close to your kidney. A gasp leaves your body before you fall on the floor, blood oozing from the wound. Hundred of needles pierce at your flesh, blood paints the concrete and your mind fuses with the flesh of your brain. Then it all stops; you're back in the alley, cold spreading from the wound throughout your body, followed by a unbearable heat. The blade is snatched from your side, an ear shattering scream erupting from your throat. He is on top of you, already inching the knife to the base of your neck, planning to stab you there, wanting to see the life leaving your body in the most gruesome way possible. "I can't wait to see the look on your girlfriend when I am going to bring her the eyes of her most loved!".

"Bye bye, piltie" you brace yourself for your end; you can almost already feel the knife lodged in your throat, but nothing happens. You hear the sound of a metal hulk resonating in the hallway, before he is knocked down by something thrown with force against his face. You recognize it to be the exoskeleton of the arm you saw before, lying around. The rod which was the building foundation for its making has been thrown on the man's ugly bat-like nose, making him bleed red.

Isha stands behind you, still in launching position, before she runs over to you and tries to help you up. When you do, white behind your eyelids blinds you, pain making your head spin. He gets up again, an animalistic wild look in his eyes. He moves again, muscles hardened with purple veins running along them, drool falling down the space between the mask and his skin. Before he can assault you again, Isha throws something at him: the bomb he himself kicked before, the one Jinx had made, moves through the air, soon to be the second object to hit his ugly face today. He recognizes the object and pales when he sees a red light zipping faster and faster, its grinning mouth inching closer to him.

A colorful light shines on the walls, paint of blue and pink shades falling down like rain; sparks of fire following the natural course of an explosion, fading out of existence a moment later. You run with Isha, hand in hand, away from this horrid place. This time, you don't look back.

A trickle of sweat falls down Jinx's temple while her eyes are focused on connecting two tubes of plastic together. Electricity flows through them, sending sparks flying dangerously close to her skin, before they are connected by the metal snaps on each of their ends. Jinx smiles as her creation takes its first movements, loudly clapping two copper coloured, round, small discs together, before stopping once again. Her fingers twist the key positioned on its back and the mechanic monkey comes to life once again. When her work is finally done, she puts it next to the other one she made hours prior.

The one meant for Isha is coloured with golden accents and decorated with graffitis all over. When turned on, it quickly smashes the plates against each other and plays an off-tune punk song if the button on its right leg is pushed; its eyes are golden, mimicking Isha's own. The one meant for you is far softer than the first: soft shades of pastel mix together with Jinx's characteristic pink, swirling your colours together. Instead of plates, it has a small, roughly knitted red heart in its hands. The left eye shines bright pink, while the other mirror's yours. There are no graffiti on it, except for a small heart on its chest, one near 'your' eye and a 'Jinx' on its left side.

She can't wait to see the look on your eyes when you will see it. She could never quite well express affection like other people do, so giving you gifts was what she did best. Just as she dreams of your face, she hears quick, loud steps coming closer and closer to her. "If you are Caitlyin, I appreciate your obsession with me, but I am in the middle of-" she recognizes Isha's laboured breaths and your pained groans before she can finish the phrase. And when she turns around, her face pales and her blood freezes. Isha has a panicked look to her face, one that she had never seen before; and you? Sweat falls with heavy tears down your face, the shade of your skin so much paler than it usually is, making you look almost dead. Your hand is tightly clutched on your side, where your hand is stained with...blood?

In a fraction of a second, Jinx is on you, hands checking at every curve of your body, focusing on places you might be hurt, while she asks question upon question, filling the air with a sense of urgency. You can only describe the look in her eyes as pure dread. If you didn't groan with pain every few seconds, you'd think Jinx was the one to have gotten hurt. The next few minutes are a whirlpool of movements and colours, making you spill your lunch on the floor. Soft fabric meets your back, suddenly naked with only your bra to cover your chest. Blood oozes faster out of you and you can feel your conscience leaving. Nothing else besides the red on your skin and the blurred shades of blue and brown exists for you.

"...ont worry, I al... got m... sis...er out of ...ble". When after wetting your wound with water, Jinx presses gauze on your body, you are suddenly brought back to life, violently. It feels like someone is crushing with all their might on you, despite Jinx applying the right pressure to the wound. If someone were to walk in right now hearing your screams, they'd think you were begin murdered. After what finally feels like an eternity, you are lying again on her bed, almost lifelessly. You don't have time to answer Jinx's questions, before you fall into a deep slumber.

Half an hour passes by, and the world seems sealed in a bubble of silence. Nothing moves. nothing makes noise, nothing happens. The only thing that does make noise are the voices in Jinx's head, screaming loudly at her for having let you go alone. 'You should have been there', 'See what happens when you let people into your life?', 'She is hurt. She might die. It's your fault'.

Their loud screams are enough to make one go crazy, but despite how confused she is, Jinx finds a will in herself to speak, to silence them. With her hand, she nudges Isha, getting her attention, and mouths "What happened?".

Isha doesn't answer. Her eyes burn holes into the metal of the helix, bottom lip tightly sealed under her teeth, before something in her breaks. She rushes in Jinx's arms, hiding herself into her chest, crying until the tears are gone and her throat is raw. They stay together, tangled into one another, for a while, until their bodies are cold. "Isha, what happened?" Jinx repeats.

Isha gets up, running over Jinx's desk and returns with two different coloured pencils. On the ground she draws a scene: you and her, hand in hand, with frowning faces; behind you six grinning figures, one taller than the rest. Green splattered on the ground and high walls. Jinx recognizes this place immediatley; she's been there just a couple of weeks prior.

Walking to her desk, she grabs her trusted gun and more than a dozen of bullets. A deep, hateful scowl paints her features, eyes shining brighter than usual.

Tonight, the undercity shines and roars with fervor. Its lights shine bright and the shouts of its inhabitants brings it to life, beating strong, like the heart of a dragon. The city seems to sway in tandem with Jinx's white cape, almost bending to her will but also shielding her, hiding her in its crowds. This is home. This is all Jinx has ever known and ever will. She knows it's streets like the palm of her hand: where to leave her mark, the highest places she can reach from which she can put a bullet in between her enemies eyes, which vents and tunnels will take her back home.

She knows exactly where you had been hurt, and if her predictions are correct, they're waiting for her there. And she's gonna give them what they want. The allway is far too serene to be one of the city's main ways out to the perimeter where steel factories and shipments are. It's uncharacteristically quiet, and by Zaun's rules, that means danger.

Jinx steps on the green gooey substance, observing the dripping of your blood leading to the city's main street, and anger boils inside her at that view. The square is empty, except for a series of tubes and a pitfall to its left. Just as she thought, she begins to hear steps coming into her direction. They had been expecting her.

"If you weren't trying, and failing, to ambush me, I'd say you have a crush" the man behind her simply scoffs, his breath coming out ragged and metallic from under his mask.

Jinx turns around to see a tall man, breathing through what she recognizes to be a mask that henchmens of shady organizations wore to enhance their physical abilities. After a moment, she recognizes blood staining the man's pale skin, half of his left hand blown off, rudimental replaced with a metal prosthesis at the last minute. She can ignore that just fine, but the exposed muscle of his left cheek makes her want to puke. "Wow, and you're even more grotesque than I thought" a cruel anger swirls inside her eyes, her lips curling up in a snarl. "What? Were you so anxious to try to kill me that you couldn't even let your wounds heal?" he laughs at her words, men closing in on her much like they did hours prior to you.

"We were waiting for you, Powder" the mention of that name pangs at her heart. Subtly, she touches the top of her gun, ready to draw it at the first sign of danger. "I figured. How do you know my name?" "A man can know much...if he is in the right place, at the right time" he falls silent when Jinx laughs at his words, anger making a vein in his head pop. "Damn. I thought you were pathetic already, but this whole 'supervillain' talk only makes you seem more of an ass than you already are" much like Jinx, he grabs the death of his knife. At the sign, his men form a half circle around the blue haired criminal, directly closing the only way out. "You won't talk all that shit after I sink my blade in your throat" she can't help but feel compassion for these poor bastards. Faintly, she can already feel their blood falling on her skin while putting bullets between their eyes. "I would like to see you try" she changes her body stance, right side facing them while she takes out her gun with her left hand, making a show of placing the bullets in. Unlike what she thought, they do not follow her; instead, the leader seems relaxed as ever. His dark eyes reflect hers and for a second Jinx can see a dangerous, maniacal glint in them and a cruel grin on his lips.

"Oh I did try, and succeeded, with your little piltie bitch-girlfriend" her breathing stops, heart missing a beat, and time seems to stop for a moment, before it all starts to spin again, faster and faster as she gets angrier and angrier. "You should have heard her screams. The sweetest I've ever heard" she imagines you, clutching at your side, tears in your eyes and spit falling off your mouth; begging for him to leave you alone, to let you go. His features are lost under a black veil and painted over with a red open mouthed smile and tight eyes, not unlike the monsters that she has to fight with every night, as he raises the crimson blade and-.

"Don't you fucking dare" her throath feels raw when she speaks, almost as if she's spewing pure black hatred with each word. "Or what? What are you going to do?" 'He thinks he's the shit, huh?', she thinks, loading the storage to the brim and finally raising the barrel of her gun to aim on his forehead. "I am going to enjoy blowing your brains out"

'No one hurts the people I love'.

The next few seconds are a blur of colours and movement. Her body moves before her mind can understand what is going on. She ducks under something coming at her, kicking at the figure and sending them flying a few feet away from her. Someone pulls at her braids and she yelps, momentarily confused; in a fraction of a second, she blows their hand off, crouching and punching in the face a second figure. The blood on the ground, spilling from the screaming man gives everything a shape again and she's back to the alley. Three men are down, two unconscious and one debilitated. The remaining ones look at her up and down, before the leader nudges them, kicking their shins.

One of them takes a metal rod from his side and swings wildly at Jinx, paying no attention to where he hits. She dodges him with no effort and when he stops momentarily to rest his arm, she knocks his weapon from his hands and hits him in the neck with it, white replacing the colour of his eyes. The other, after seeing the bodies of who used to be his companions, runs away, leaving his leader behind; but before he can make it far, a bullet runs fast through his chest and he falls to the floor, lifeless.

He is the last one standing. "Heh, you call yourself a leader, but you couldn't even save your men". His teeth grind harshly against each other, sending jolts of pain through his mouth, "Shut the fuck up".

But Jinx doesn't. No, she's going to enjoy torturing the life out of this fucker like he did to you. "You didn't even lift a finger. I didn't know Zaun could have such a coward walking through its streets".

He finally snaps, spit flowing out of his mouth as he screams, staining the mask inside "I said shut up!". He breathes in the chemical Jinx is so familiar with, huffing purple clouds out of the mask with a metallic sound. Once again, he feels the rush of the substance in his lungs, blood circling small purple bubbles throughout the body, strengthening his muscles and blanking his mind. But this time, his body starts to twitch and shake, slipping out of his control.

The heart beats faster, the lungs lose their air and move erratically, blood flows freely through his body and bones morph, stretching and breaking and strengthening. His muscles cannot be sustained by the bones anymore, and he falls to the floor. The space inside his ribcage feels tighter, his lungs can only provide so much until finally, his body stops changing and he can stand up, much taller than Jinx now.

The blue haired criminal looks incredibly unimpressed with her opponent's new shape, her eyes studying his moments and planning the next few seconds. That grotesque creature lunges, pushing his whole weight on the top of his body, falling messily when Jinx dodges him. She ducks under a clawed swing, rolling through the space between his legs; then, while he is confused and looking for her, aims at his neck.

The bullet lodges itself into the skin, remaining snugly fit between flesh. The scream that leaves him could have woken up the dead. His nails dig into his neck, trying desperately to yank the bullet out, but to no avail. He turns and turns, like a cat chasing its tail, before dizziness gets to him and he falls to the floor, spilling saliva all over the concrete. When he looks around once again, he is face to face with Jinx's gun, staring at the black hole of the barrel. "You made a mistake crossing me, today. Let this be a lesson" she tilts the gun until it's flat against his forehead. He is not capable of forming words anymore, they die at the base of his throath, leaving only emptiness behind. For a moment, she can see in his eyes something that resembled her, many years ago: a scared animal, one that does not understand what their fate will be. But when her mind reminds her of how viciously he attacked you, and how you are lying in her bed, with no assurance that you'll wake up, anger bubbles once again behind her eyes, clouding her thoughts.

"I'm sorry" is all that he hears, before his body falls to the floor, life leaving his eyes.

Her heart feels cold, as well as her body and mind. Jinx, in her own kind of weird way, is already trying to make peace with the fact that, once she comes back home, you might be gone. All too often in her life she had to come to terms with the death of her loved ones, and all too often, she was directly involved with their demise. She can already picture it: you on the bed, blood staining your clothes and the mattress, Isha on her knees, crying her heart out. She, coming home, seeing your dead body lying on what used to be your little shared creek, shielded by the world, falling to her knees and her heart finally giving out to pain, soon to follow you.

From the crack inside the wall, she can spot the helix of her home, the one she'll soon walk over to reach you. She tries to move, but to no avail: her body doesn't let her. Her muscles are reduced to mush, her legs feel like lead and her heart heaves on her rib cage so much that she had to bend down, clutching at her chest to try and ignore that pain. She could stay here forever, stalling time to this single minute, winding it back over and over and over again, all for the purpose of pretending she's still with you, back in your apartment in Piltover, laying naked on the bed with serene smiles on your faces.

But she can't. Even if she could stop time, right here and now, what could she do? Nothing would change. You'd still be dead, she'd still be heartbroken, the bed would still be cold on your side.

She slips inside the crevice, body molding to its shape, before she is face to face with the entrance to her home. She's so lost in her dread and fear that, for a moment, she doesn't hear the sound of laughter from the inside. When her mind recognized the sound, the pitch of the voice she so longed to hear, tears prickled at her eyes and hope filled her heart. She rushes towards the sound, almost tripping down the helix and falling to her death.

There you are. Laying on the bed, laughing weakly as Isha gesticulates and shouts loudly, imitating some sort of monster. Every little light inside her home has been placed near you, probably by Isha, and lifts your figure with a myriad of colorful shades. You look like a living painting to her.

You can't even process seeing her when she's already on you, touching you everywhere, checking your pulse, grabbing onto your legs to assure herself, to make sure that you...

"Are you... really alive?". You could crumble right here and now under those tearful eyes of hers, so soft and beautiful, looking almost powder blue. You stretch your arms to reach down to her, hugging her close to you; "I am, I am". Jinx takes a moment to process your hug and your words; and when she does, when she's certain that you are alive, that you are okay, her walls crumble away.

She pulls you down towards her, wanting to reciprocate the hug, but impatience gets the better of her and instead pulls herself on the bed, halfway reaching you. Her head rests on your belly, tears staining your clothes when she feels your hand on her back. "I thought-! I thought you-" her words die in her throath when she feels your fingers cupping at her cheek, pulling her to rest on her knees and look into your eyes. "I know, I know. I am okay".

Tears fall freely down her cheeks once again, her bottom lip wavering before she takes refuge in your body, hiding her tears on your lap. "I am so glad! I am so glad...".

Once her tears dry, she pushes herself to look at you, eyes puffy and red. "You are okay" she says, and you're about to assure her once again, but something tells you that she's really talking to herself. She climbs on the bed with you, quickly resting her head on your chest. You can't help but smile at her, ready to cuddle together when you realize you've let someone out of the picture. Isha looks at you both with those big eyes of her, pouting. She knows exactly how to push your buttons.

"Come on kid, get in" come Jinx's words, quickly followed by Isha tangling herself in between your bodies and closing her eyes, sleep already overtaking her. "Man, she sure takes a lot of space" you chuckle, placing your hand on Isha's head and stroking her locks between your fingers, hearing a small contented sigh from her. "Yeah, but she deserves it". A heavy silence fills the space, one that you usually pair up with tranquillity, but who you quickly realize is loud for your lover. "Jinx... I am okay" stopping them from screaming in her ears is hard, but when you are with her, they vanish off of existence. Your voice brings her back to reality, as well as reminding her that you have gotten hurt. Letting herself relax after the storm is something she's not used to. "I know" but she can try.

Starting this conversation will be a pain, you think to yourself, but you need to tell her.

"...He told me your real name, Jinx. And, what you did". Quick snapping sounds, mixed with hushed voices and distant screams fill her head in a second, getting louder by the second. She doesn't find in herself the strength to answer, too tired from the day's events; but nevertheless, listens. She leans on the bed, eyes dark and attentive. The scent of your skin fills her nose and she braces herself for your next words. "But...I don't care".

What?

"I don't know what you've been through, but... I don't need to know. You will tell me if you want to". It all stops. Every sound, every shout or whisper, every heartbeat or pulse of electricity. It seems, for a moment, that all becomes white and quiet, before the world starts to spin again. You feel her strong fingers push you more towards her, one cold hand under your clothes, right where your wound is. "Thank you toots, that means a lot".

Less than twenty seconds of silence later, she's already pestering you with her worries again, "Does it hurt? Do I need to give you som-" you interrupt her, taking her hand in yours. Normally, you would be a little annoyed by her continuous train of words, but she needs to be reassured. She needs to hear it from you, how many times it takes. "I am okay. I just need you here with me".

That seems enough to let her finally bear down her worries and she quickly rests on the bed, eyelids heavy and a yawn in her throath. "...I made you a monkey...gift" she slurrs over her words, already slipping in and out of conciousness. "Oh really?". "Yeah...". You too are about to follow her shortly, and before you let sleep overtake you, you reach behind and place a kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight Jinx" she smiles, catching your lips in a quick peck and pushing her nose in the crevice of your shoulders; "Goodnight toots".

Bonus ----------------

When Sevika came home that night, after her usual gambling and drinking out in Zaun's bar, she certainly did not expect to find the messily tangled body of limbs that were you, Jinx and Isha.

As quietly as she possibly can, she takes the chair Jinx sits on while doing her evil scientist machineries and sits next to your bed. Placing a cigar in between your lips and lights it, blowing the smoke away in the opposite direction. She looks back at the bed, multiple coloured lights shading your peacefully sleeping figures. She stays silent for a moment, before she crouches on her knees and shakes the tip of the cigar, firing crumbling pieces of tobacco down on the floor. "They do look pretty cute".

[cyber333angel]

HATE SEX WITH RAFE !

you and rafe had been arguing for about three days now, huffing and puffing whenever you saw each other and slamming doors around the house. however today, you really wanted to piss him off and get back at him. it was around 8 pm where you were putting the finishing touches to your pretty little outfit, layering your jewelry and picking out what delicious scent you would smell like tonight.

you grabbed your purse and started to head down the stairs where rafe sat on the couch occupying himself with his phone. as he heard the click clacks of your heals he looked up from the screen, observing the way your tits bounced with every step and how the volume of your hair sprung up and down, overall how absolutely gorgeous you looked. a loud voice interrupts you as you reach the last step, “where the fuck are you going dressed like that?” unfazed by the hostility, you answer. “a party.” you give him a short response, purposely to tick him off and you see rafe spring up from his seat, walking towards you. “a party with who?” he says while nodding his head and biting his thumb. you look up at him annoyed. “with sarah and kie, why do you care anyway?” you break eye contact with him and you start walking to the entryway, almost at the door handle. mumbling under your breath quietly, “so annoying like..get out of the fucking way.“

you knew better than to talk to your boyfriend like that, realizing it when suddenly your throat and hand that was reaching for the door, are held in a tight grip from rafe. “don’t ever fix your mouth to say some shit like that to me again, you hear me?” startled by his sternness you decide to push him more, just to see how far he would go. “fuck you rafe, your not the boss of me.” rafe twists his head at you, since it seems like your not knowing who your talking to. “yeah, im not the boss of you?”

..your now on the bed, your coily hair held in rafes hand in a tight grip as he abuses your cunt. he bunched up the dress halfway up your spine, panties lost at the end of your ankle as your knees pressed into the bed. your ass ricocheted off his pelvis from the brutal pace, and your eyes went half lidded from the pain and pleasure. “got some fuckin nerve thinking you could talk to me like that.” he had been fucking you for what seemed like hours at this point, his cock buried in your pussy leaking out white liquid. “mmm daddy m’so-sorryy! won’t do it again i swear!” you beg, your soaked hole becoming sensitive at every harsh thrust he makes you take.

rafe ignores your pleads, letting it really sink in and make you think of the way you acted earlier. “nah but you weren’t sorry before when you wanted to go act like a slut at some fucking party.” he bends down close to your ear, pulling your hair to level your face with his. “huh sweetheart? what happened to all that fuckin talk? i thought i wasn’t the boss of you?” you could only answer with sobs and cry’s from how rough he was being. your wet skin smacking together, sweaty from how good he was making you feel. his cock dragging in and out of your cunt making your head spin, “hngh..slo-slow down rafey!” he grips the fat of your ass and relaxes his pace, fucking you slowly as he runs his hands through his hair straightening his back. he ponders, opening his mouth to ask you a question. “where’d you learn to speak to me like that hm? never spoke t’me like that before so what happened, you needed some dick?” he waits for your response, still rocking his hips back and forth slowly.

you shake your head, “d-didn’t want to argue with you anymore daddy.. im sorry nd ill be good now promise!” whining at him, rafe coos at you, knowing you only did this to end the useless bickering between the two of you. “t’aw s’okay baby i know your sorry, i know your a good girl. daddy doesn’t like to argue with you either alright?” you nod frantically, happy that your little squabble with your boyfriend was over. “go on and cum on this dick sweetheart, just like that..” he admires you from above, watching the way you squirm as you cream on his cock. rafe put in a last few thrusts and pulls out, cumming on your back where your dress was bunched up at the top. it was a shame though, you really did look good in that dress.

[lxvvie]

A relationship with Ghost would consist of the following (and here's the sequel!):

Being mutually attracted to each other but it's 98012334823 years before you make things official.

Price, Gaz, and Soap essentially going "FINALLY!" and welcoming you to the group with open arms because it's about damn time Ghost found some happiness of his own.

You and Johnny double-teaming Ghost to poke fun at him.

Realizing that Ghost actually has a pretty wicked albeit deadpan sense of humor. You can especially see it with Soap. Can and does encourage Soap to do the thing rather bluntly because he and Gaz have a betting pool going.

Simon being your silent but everpresent protector whenever he's with you. He likes to be in the background observing his surroundings. His eyes never leave your form, though.

Finding out he's quite the handyman. Simon likes keeping his hands busy.

Giggling and/or guffawing whenever he says the word knobhead or taco.

Never failing to become flustered at the way he looks at you. Simon emotes with his eyes more than anything. His gaze is powerful.

Learning to interpret his grunts. They actually vary depending on his mood.

Ghost having to buy boxer briefs (men's boxers are friggin' COMFORTABLE, you hear me?!) and hoodies more than usual because you almost always take his old ones. He doesn't mind as much as you think he does. In fact, he likes it when you wear his clothes. He just won't ever say it. Much. He will, however, show you how much he likes it...

Realizing that for all his size, Simon moves in silence. You've lost count of the number of times he's scared you.

Ghost having no problems entertaining you, especially when it comes to random ass conversations. Some of his responses, especially when said in a deadpan tone, are unintentionally hilarious.

Never failing to be impressed by the way he can multi-task, especially when you're talking to him. You tested it once because you thought he wasn't listening. He was. He repeated the last thing you said to him verbatim. Oh.

(Referencing this post) Ghost knowing he's in hot shit when you call his full name, complete with a middle name that changes every. fucking. time. To date, he is Simon Marie Amadeus Atherton Riley. Soap caught the Marie part and now he has the rest of 141 convinced that's Ghost's middle name.

Ghost learning the importance of self-care. Whenever he's in hot shit, it's almost always because he's pushing himself or won't allow himself the opportunity to rest.

Giving each other space when necessary. Ghost absolutely needs space to decompress when he gets home and afterward, you two are inseparable.

Using each other as human pillows. Whereas Johnny becomes The Soapurrito™, Simon tends to sploot on top of you. Especially when he's dead tired.

Texting him random ass questions and depending on the answer, Simon is yet again in the doghouse.

Talking about potential tattoos he can get. He shot down the idea of getting your name tatted on his lower back because... no.

[demon-country]

Man, no wonder Stolas got literal heart eyes after Blitz did this. This was his "Harriet! Don't get on that train!" moment, the big gesture he so desperately wanted just so he'd know that Blitz really did care about him enough to want him to stay. He had been so sure that that was going to be the last time he ever saw Blitz, that the last thing he ever did would be saving Blitz's life, and Blitz's response was to fight against the chains dragging him away just so he could run to Stolas with a desperate, heart-wrenching plea not to sacrifice himself.

Blitz had thought for sure that he'd never be able to give Stolas the kind of dramatic romcom moment Stolas longed for, but the joke's on him and us, because even though we all knew he would inevitably end up giving Stolas one and were eagerly awaiting it, no one expected it to be like that. And yet, the writers pulled through for us once again, because there really could not have been a more meaningful and moving way for him to have done so.

Anything where Blitz actually said something along the lines of "don't get on that train", could have been misconstrued by both Stolas and irl media illiterate viewers as Blitz just saying what Stolas wanted to hear without actually meaning it (assuming Stolas even remembers that conversation). But there was nothing contrived about this, there was no time for him to have possibly thought about any potential romcom moments at all; he just saw that he was about to lose Stolas for good and fought as hard and as frantically as he could, just to beg Stolas not to take the fall for him. To not love him so much that he'd think Blitz was worth protecting with his very life.

And I don't even think he realizes just how much that meant to Stolas, to know that the man he loves would fight for him with such fervor, despite knowing that it was a fruitless effort. Blitz, without knowing it and without even realizing just how much raw, earnest, desperate love he was displaying, gave Stolas exactly the kind of overt and undeniable proof that he was loved and wanted that he had always needed.

Except that, as Stolas has already found out, that's not enough. He made his big gesture to Blitz and Blitz made one to him, and that's a great start, but love's not just shown through grand gestures and they're not what'll help you pick up the pieces when your world falls apart.

The smaller, softer, quieter gestures of love are what Stolas will need most going forward, but for someone who has received as little love in his life as Stolas has, who has suffered from depression for ages, and who has just lost almost everything (including his antidepressants!), it might end up being hard for him to tell the difference between what is done out of love and what is done out of mere obligation to repay a debt. Not to worry, though, because he'll learn how to spot it soon enough.

He'll see that sometimes love is shown by taking care of someone when they don't have the strength to do it themselves

And by taking them by the hand and giving them a place to rest when it all becomes too much for them to bear

And by catching them when they fall, even when you're upset with each other

And by being so comforting that they feel safe falling asleep and leaving themselves vulnerable next to you without any hesitation.

Perhaps the greatest injustice the world has dealt to Blitz is by convincing him that he ruins lives, when the truth is that the person behind his walls has a way of loving people that is so incredibly healing. Simply by being his real, honest self, he manages to give the people he cares about the kind of love they need the most, without even trying. Without even noticing how much his words and actions have affected them for the better.

And now that those walls have started to drop, his loved ones have been able to start showing how much they love and want to support him as well. I have faith that once Stolas has cottoned on to the little ways Blitz has been showing him that he cares, that he'll start reciprocating those gestures. The man is such a romantic and in the song Just Look My Way he even says "I can give you everything you need" as well as "and no matter what in this world I could give, it's not enough"; there's no way he won't eventually try to provide for and take care of Blitz once he's well enough to. He just needs some time to heal, and until then Blitz will be there, giving him the love and care that he needs to keep his head above water.

Tl;dr: all the people who said that Blitz would never be able to give Stolas what he needs in a partner have just been proven dead wrong on all counts, and will continue to be proven so.

[pawberri]

The key problem with "proship vs anti" discourse is that the most extreme versions of each side, the ones who actually bother to identify with these labels, accepted each others worst takes as arguments they had to debate. "Fiction =/= reality" is, in practice, an absurdly reductionist, anti-intellectual, thought-terminating-cliche that dictates we can learn nothing about a person via art and that their fiction reflects no political or moral messaging worthy of critique. In response to this, the "puriteens" who are too young to possibly hope to articulate their discomfort, to untangle their position from what is often real trauma experienced online, simply argue "yes, fiction influences and reflects reality in a 1 to 1 capacity." They, and people who want to use the groundwork they laid to make bad-faith callouts, make bad arguments about how the action of engaging in problematic fiction is on equal ground to real life abuse, or is a clear indicator of interest in real life abuse. Both of these arguments are terrible, but each side seems to radicalize the other further and further into their own brands of anti-intellectual reactionary belief. "Proshippers" become libertarian absolutists about free speech and view all transgression as righteous and alternative and therefore leftist. They gain a reactionary nostalgia for the past, desiring a time when people didn't seem to care about the implications of art. "Antis" become authoritarian and hypervigilant for signs of moral decay, at their worst, willing to align themselves with government bodies that offer carceral solutions to the debate. They are willing to use harassment as a tool of punishment, which then leads to false accusations and a fear of openness that puts people at risk of being triggered via obfuscation. (That said, proshippers also take part in plenty of harassment.)

I will say that I believe both of these movements are equally sensitive to co-opting by right-wing forces. We see the authoritarian tendencies of anti culture in harassment campaigns and even the way Republican law makers co-opt "grooming." The proship/fic crowd has such extreme nostalgia for the past that I often see people align themselves with the cultures of 4chan or other happily right-wing websites. They so heavily reject the idea that a drawn sexual depiction of a child could reflect any desire that they are disinterested in analyzing what the motivation behind the depiction is. i.e If we track the history of lolicon in Japan we do find that is, yes, countercultural, but that counter culture is right wing, very misogynistic, and defensive of patriarchial Japanese culture as it is and was including its culture around rape and abuse. Plenty of fictional content works as radicalization material, and radicalization material needs to be ambiguous. There is a valid reason to be hesitant to trust people who consume this content, even if I do not believe most of them will ever be dangerous towards children. The mere presence of sexuality is not enough to make a movement left wing. This kind of thing can again be seen in right-wing libertarian movements in the US. (And even leftist movements can be bigoted and even "pro-pedophilia" or otherwise disinterested in social reform around abuse.)

Is all content with elements of age-play this way? No. But to me, that is why kink media deserves to be treated as art and analyzed, critiqued, treated seriously. It doesn't have to do anything to anyone to be worthy of a moral critique. Said moral critique just doesn't warrant harassment and cruelty and reactionary exaggerations of the person consuming said content.

Anyway, what's my point in saying all this? I don't know. I'm just begging you to tag your God damn content with specific tags instead of random and nebulous shit like "dead dove" or "dark content", and also begging you to stop harassing people who do tag their content so I don't have to guess what "dead dove" and "dark content" mean. No one will erase incest kink fics or people who feel sickened by the idea of them off this earth because we aren't god, but we could at least all be responsible about tagging, flagging, and age-gating our stuff.

[thedragonkween]

King Baldwin IV Headcanons! ♔🤍♕

A/N: So, here we are. I could not resist this mysterious and tormented king's charm. His silky voice makes me dream! These are some headcanons I've collected off the top of my head. The Reader is implied to be female and married to Baldwin IV. Please, do feel free to hit my inbox to ramble about our king because I'm literally dying of pining and yearning.

tags: female!reader x baldwin iv of jerusalem (from kingdom of heaven); reader is married to baldwin iv of jerusalem; fluff; slight angst towards the end

wc: 1150k

reccomended songs to listen to while reading: "Summertime Sadness" by Hildegard von Blingin; "Right Here" by Ashes Remain; "Blood, Sweat, Tears" by BTS (orchestral version)

"Many are the tales of the King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and of his Queen. Despite the varying accounts of their deeds, each one of them agrees on one aspect: the King of Jerusalem loved his Queen dearly, and the world is richer for it".

Baldwin IV is mysterious, intense, valiant, noble and utterly devoted to you, his Queen. But what does this devotion look like?

Firstly, he would believe in you like no other and would always be ready to give you his best advice whenever the weight of your responsibility becomes too much. Foreign rulers would soon learn of your qualities - there would hardly be a piece of correspondence where the King of Jerusalem does not praise the intellect and insight of his dear wife. He would glance at you from time to time, while you both work at your desks sharing the burden of paperwork, silently thanking God for having sent him not only a beautiful, but reliable life companion as well.

He values your opinions greatly and has the utmost regard for your views on political, military and state matters. Disagreements happen, yet your overall values are aligned, which is why Baldwin understands your vision and where your point comes from. During the discussions regarding complex decisions, he would let you speak and explain, then he would offer his honest thoughts on the matter, should he see another, different way from yours. 

Playing chess is a favorite way of spending quality time together in your chambers, away from the chaos of the court. If you know how to play and are proficient at it, he would delight in the thrill of challenge, as he would finally have found a true equal. If you do not know how to play, he would teach you with patience, taking pride whenever you make an unexpected and astute move. He would be such a nerd while he explains the rules to you and would be delighted to see how your mind works when devising a plan.

"Congratulations, dove. You have a checkmate."

I can also see Baldwin taking you on long rides, if his health allows it. He would sweetly check the reins and saddle on your horse before mounting on his steed and leading you away to enjoy the cool early morning breeze, before the heat of Jerusalem becomes too sweltering. You would have a nice and secluded spot to enjoy and to pretend that you are a couple of young lovers without responsibilities and crowns weighing on your heads.

Your presence brings him safety and comfort, which is what would convince him to remove his mask when he is alone with you and the physicians. He would especially love to rest his head on your lap as you gently caress his curls while the physicians tend to his skin. It is a sacred moment. He does not know how he went so long without your presence during this delicate time. Speaking softly to each other, you would distract him from the pain with talk of your hometown, fairy tales from your culture, or even simply reflecting on a happening of that day. On these occasions, you learn how to best take care of him, watching the physician tend to his arm while you tend to the other, delicately dabbing the cloth over his wounded skin. Baldwin feels so protected and safe in your presence. He thinks you are God’s greatest gift to him.

Now, jealousy. Baldwin knows he boasts the honor of having an exquisite flower such as yourself to call his own. As do powerful men and courtiers from distant lands. Many covet your loveliness as one would a precious gem. Should one of these foolish people try to take you from him or even stare at you for too long to be considered proper, they would be met with a pure force to be reckoned with. Should a knight’s eye linger on you for too long, he would be quick to put him in place in his signature glacial, elegant way. Before long, everyone learns not to disrespect the Queen consort of Jerusalem.

“Perhaps you would have understood my point, had you not been so insolently ogling my wife”. He takes out his whip. “On your knees. You will pay for insulting the Queen”.

He would protect you with his life. He swore to protect Jerusalem and, as its Queen, that includes first of all you. Should a courtier doubt your devotion and mistake it for thirst for power, or should he learn of an orchestrated attempt on your life, he would waste no time in employing his best forces in your service to defend you.

His enemies and templars alike fear him, yet with you he is as gentle as the morning breeze that gently caresses Jerusalem. This powerful king who makes armies tremble and kingdoms shake is the same person who holds and kisses your hand (when in public, bringing your fingers to the lips of his mask), who silently admires your loveliness from afar and sighs to himself, who longs for your warmth after a tiring day. 

He would write you letters. Lots of them. And not always when he is away. Maybe he just liked the way the sun reflected in your eyes that morning. Or maybe when you helped a servant, he was moved by your kindness. Your every action inspires him, so much so that he has to let out his thoughts on paper. You have a pretty wooden box brimming with delicate papers penned by Baldwin in your honor. He is not only the King of Jerusalem, but also the king of pining, of yearning. Even when he has you near, he yearns for you.

I love to imagine him letting you accompany him to battle. He would love it too, in theory. You make him so strong, the both of you would be quite the sight, meeting your enemies head on, as one, donning your best armors. Yet, at the same time I cannot imagine him resting easy knowing that a loose arrow, a desperate soldier seeking glory for killing the Queen of Jerusalem, or fatigue and sickness could take you from him. It pains his heart to be parted from you, yet he cannot risk your safety. Instead, Baldwin would trust you with ruling the kingdom. He has absolute faith in your intelligence, willpower and cleverness, especially after all he has taught you about running the realm. He longs for you every second he’s away from Jerusalem, yet his heart is at peace knowing his kingdom is in the most capable hands.

When he feels that his time on this Earth is nearing his end, he calls for his most trusted advisors, including Balian and Tiberias. He would ask them, almost begging, to protect you always, at all costs, when he is no longer there to do so. Balian and Tiberias would exchange a quick glance to each other, vowing to respect their King’s wish until the very end.

“Protect her. Please.” “Always, my Lord”.

Poems, songs and stories would be written in honor of your love even centuries after your passing. Many tales would speak of Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and his Queen. Different pieces of art, such as paintings and ballads, would inspire people from all over the world to find a love as devoted and unshakable as yours. Until the very end.

All in all, to love Baldwin means knowing your time together is limited. As is the time of all creatures on Earth. He would beg you to go on after his passing, to live for him. He shall wait for you and protect you from above. Until the very end.